


Through the Fog (Part 2)

by waskonedo



Series: Through the Fog [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Action & Romance, Alcohol, Angst, Castles, Coming of Age, F/M, Fencing, Hurt/Comfort, Kuraigana Island, Lovers to Friends to Lovers, OC minor character death, Pre-Series, Pre-Strawhats, Shamelessly self-indulgent, Shikkearu Kingdom, Swordfighting, Telepathy, Waka Poetry, red-eyed Mihawk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:26:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waskonedo/pseuds/waskonedo
Summary: Part 2: Kasumi, 19, struggles to balance finding her identity while building a relationship with Mihawk, 23.  Flashbacks to Mihawk's past reveal clues to his canon motivations and personality, but Kasumi would rather leave the past behind. Alternatively: "Two Idiots with Swords."Canon-timeline compliant, except that Mihawk came to Kuraigana Island at age 22. This story begins 18 years before the Strawhat Pirates set sail.





	1. Approximations

**Author's Note:**

> If you're willing to dive into my longfic (bless you!) I should give you some info up front.
> 
> * All named characters will come back around to relevancy. No one will get fridged! I'll remind you who's who as needed.  
> * This story will eventually catch up to the canon timeline (Yes, that means Zoro and Perona!)  
> * Part 2 CWs: violence, alcohol use, strong language, grief, and light smut between consenting adults.  
> * Any extra CWs are given at in notes at the beginning of the chapter. If I've forgotten to add a note for something that should have a warning, please message me on tumblr!  
> * This story will be completed! I won't leave you hanging! I'm planning three parts. 
> 
> [One Piece geography reference](http://khooz.com/)  
> [One Piece timeline reference](https://thelibraryofohara.com/2018/05/14/one-piece-timeline/) (This story begins in the year 1504.)  
>  [READ ALONG chapter by chapter with me on tumblr!](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/Ttf_Navigation)

The island of Water Seven was divided into tiers, much like the fountain that gave the city its fame. At the top were the homes of wealthy families who’d lived on the island for generations, buildings made of fine limestone, decorated with imposing columns and private fountains rivaling those found in the public squares. These buildings were eternally safe from the Agua Laguna that threatened the island every year, and their residents looked with derision upon those who “chose” to live in more vulnerable areas.

Upper-tier people rarely ventured below their strata, both socially and physically. Although scandalous behavior and whispered insinuations were common, they enjoyed the privilege of being able to keep their secrets mostly to themselves while avoiding the hoi-polloi. The top level of the fountain emptied here, providing the cleanest water for daily living and gleaming, algae-free canals where you could see straight to the bottom. “Never swim in dirty water,” they’d tell their children, “Our kind doesn’t associate with those who spawn from the sludge.”

On the next tier were the homes and businesses of the working class, homes like Henri’s that, while not impressive, were secure from the flooding and offered the majority of the green space on the island. People here usually farmed a staple crop like potatoes, beans, or corn to accompany their seafood-based diet, occasionally bringing in loads of soil from other areas to supplement the sinking ground.

The most-used tier was the public space, a mix of stone and brick buildings that supported the daily life of the population. Shops, shipyards, markets, government buildings, hotels, theaters, and proud little houses that bore the marks of the water level from flooding over the years. This was the level that most of the gates led to, and where tourists and traders mingled with the residents and rode Yagara bulls through the flumes and canals.

Near the bottom, in the backstreets, were wooden structures that stood perpetually damp and creaky, inhabited by those who were in the habit of annually rebuilding their homes, often scavenging what they could to ensure they had a roof over their head for another year before the water swept it away. Modest shacks of wood and scrap metal, warped-floored taverns, brothel hotels with unusable first stories, pawn shops, and liquor stores where bills were more likely to be paid with stolen goods or pilfered building supplies than with currency. Although the population was steady, a familiar bar or a friend’s house might move a few blocks from year to year as the Agua Laguna rearranged the neighborhood and caused everyone to scramble to rebuild in a slightly better location, hoping that they might find shelter from the next year’s flood.

Kasumi sat atop a wiggly barstool in the backstreets, her face lit by candlelight so greasy that it left a film on her skin. If she pulled this off, Mihawk simply _had to_ acknowledge her strength. Who knew? She might become the most famous bounty hunter of all time! All she needed was a good start.

She raised her eyes to meet the face of the man next to her. The crescent scar on his right cheek, the blades of deep blue hair, and the arrogant smirk peeking out from an unruly indigo mustache identified him as the man from the bounty poster: Saltpeter MacLaine, a low-level highwayman pirate worth a cool 65,000 Beri.

“What are you drinking?” she asked with a wink.

He smirked back at her and waved his hand. “I’m not interested in women.”

“I think you’ll be interested in me,” she insisted. _I’d be a fool to turn down a free drink._

His expression softened into a smile. “Well, I’d be a fool to turn down a free drink! It’s whisky on the rocks for me.”

“Bartender! A couple of whisky on the rocks for me and my friend!” Kasumi shouted with glee.

The barkeep nodded and shoveled ice into two glasses, then dispensed far too much liquor into each, marveling at his hand that seemed insistent on overpouring what the woman had ordered.

“Gosh, thank you!” she said as he placed the drinks on the bar, “Will this cover it?” She slid a handful of coins over the salt-worn bar top and smiled, well aware that the change would hardly cover one drink, much less two doubles. _That’s fine, thank you._

“That’s fine! Thank you!”

High on the confirmation that her old tricks were still effective in the slums, she turned to MacLaine before he could question the odd transaction and began to purr, “What are you up to tonight?”

“I told you. I’m not looking for a woman. I don’t fuck girls, get it?” His eyes lit up with an explosion of anger, revealing the quick temper that—more often than not—led him into situations where the only escape was to fight his way out.

Channeling her determination, she swallowed and tried again. If flirting with him wasn’t an option, then she’d simply deal with him point-blank.

“Who _(She’s)_ said _(just)_ I _(some)_ wanted _(harmless)_ to _(dumb)_ fuck _(girl)_ you?”

The juxtaposition knocked him off his guard and his head snapped back, peacock feathers of deep blue hair flashing in the candlelight. “Okay, okay, you’re right,” he laughed, “No need to get upset. But what are you even doing, girl? There’s plenty of guys around here who’d make your night worthwhile. Whaddya want?”

Kasumi tightened one side of her lips and tossed her hair behind her shoulder awkwardly. He was getting suspicious, and the femme fatale routine was worthless on him. It was tempting to just strike him down here, in the bar, in front of everyone, but a scene like that would draw unwanted attention. She needed to make him more susceptible to her power.

She tilted her knee outward just a hair, barely brushing up against his dingy pants. Skin-to-skin contact would have been better, but that was out of the question, and she’d already spent too much time on this errand.

_Drink._

He raised the glass to his lips and swallowed a stinging mouthful.

_Drink it all._

Saltpeter MacLaine downed his glass and shook his head like a wet dog. “Whew! Now that’s a tasty whisky! Aren’t you going to have some?”

Attempting to hide her excitement at the fact that her trick had worked, she politely sipped and smiled. He was already drinking when she arrived, and it seemed this last bit of liquor had dulled his senses enough to allow her to get away with anything!

At home with Mihawk, communicating without words was easy and natural, especially when she wasn’t feeling up to using her voice. But commands were a different matter, not to mention that she hadn’t been able to practice on anyone except the humandrills. Iron-willed subjects like Mihawk only seemed to hear a buzzing noise; more pliable people like Henri might be receptive to some suggestions but not others. Drunks like MacLaine were easy pickings, especially when they were too proud to imagine that their thoughts could be influenced in the first place.

She leaned her knee into him harder and sent another command, pressing her tongue against the side of her molars.   

MacLaine sprang from the barstool with abandon and dusted his hands on his pants. “Let’s get some air! Don’t you feel like taking a walk?”

“That sounds nice,” the princess agreed. Everything was working out great! Bounty hunting was surely her destiny! The man was voluntarily walking toward the Marine base with her, and she hadn’t even needed to draw her sword! She couldn’t wait to show Mihawk the 65 thousand! He’d flash her a devilish smile and wrap his arms around her, call her a “clever rabbit” or something, and they’d sail home to partake in their newest hobby. Maybe he’d be so overcome with passion that they’d fool around in the boat on the way to Kuraigana! Or just tease and whisper until they arrived at the dock, barely containing themselves until—

“What the fuck are we doing out here?”

MacLaine’s confusion was palpable. She’d let her control slip away while daydreaming about Mihawk! The sun was quickly setting, and the two confused idiots stared at each other in the orange walkway next to a filthy canal.

There was no time for pretending to be an innocent young lady now. She snatched his forearm, finding it gnarled and hairy underneath his shirt, and sank her eyes into his.

_Walk._

“Keep your hands off me, girl! I’m trying to take a walk here!” he snapped, still unsure of exactly why he was so keen on having a stroll.

The closest Marine base in the city was on the next tier: two bridges and three staircases from here. She needed him to hurry, but she couldn’t risk scaring him off. He’d have to trust her for a while longer.

“Don’t you remember?” she grinned, “We were talking in the bar! I’m taking you to the plaza downtown where the nightclubs are! It’s full of marks.” She sailed in front of him and walked backwards, desperately willing the ruse to click into place.

“That’s right… I must have drunk more than I meant to.”

She slapped him on the shoulder and laughed, “You said you’d give me 25 percent!”

He quickened his pace and nearly overtook her. “I don’t remember saying that! I probably told you five percent and you just misheard. Now get moving! Remember who’s in charge here!”

She’d hoped to reach the base by sunset, but the orange rays filtering in between the buildings threatened her plans. Mihawk was probably finished shopping now; if she spent any longer in town, he might start to worry. The sunset here was so different than the one at home! Was it only 5:30 or already 9:00?

“Alright, good idea,” she said, “Let’s hurry.”  

She’d always thought of herself as a stubborn plant growing from the cracks in the rocks on Kuraigana. No matter how hard the world tried to get rid of her, she’d surely find a way to survive. Despite the storms and poisons that were thrown at her, she’d spring up again and again, each day attempting to reach for the sunlight. She was a Shikkearu! She was destined to flourish into the blossom she was meant to be, and this act would be one of her first adult fruits. Mihawk was going to love it.

The duo trotted along until they reached the next tier, him eager to reach the promised land of easy marks, and she anxious to rid herself of him and fly back to her lover’s arms.

“Where is this place?” he asked as they crested the staircase.

_Keep walking. Forward._

“I said, which way do I go, girl?” he snapped around and squeezed her hand hard enough that the bones felt like they would slide over one another.

“I told you, Salt-pe-ter,” she growled.

“You didn’t tell me a damn thing!” he snapped, “And how the hell do you know my name? How did I get here?”

A heavy cloak of realization nearly threw her off balance: she’d fucked up. In daydreaming about the pride she’d feel once the job was finished, she’d neglected to keep taut the mental leash she had on MacLaine.

The brute lunged toward her, a dagger in hand, expecting to pin her to the wall with the blade at her neck until she explained what the hell was going on.

Her decision was made in an instant, conceived without words, thoughts, or images. Fuchi moved on its own to puncture the helpless feeling of no longer being in charge of the situation. Fuchi fixed it. Action without thought, fangs clamping down on anything that dared to threaten her, whether leaf, lamb, or lion.

She lunged low, executing the same _passata-sotto_ she’d imagined trying on Mihawk when they were at sea. It was a risky move, but enjoyably fierce. With the fingertips of her left hand planted on the ground, she rammed her blade into him, oblivious to the tearing sensation in her shoulder caused by wielding the sword one-handed at such an angle. The blackened Fuchi slid easily into his lower belly before being guided upward to pierce as many organs as possible.

With her left palm now channeling solidly through the limestone, she swung her lower body around and kicked him, two-footed, off her blade.

MacLaine shot backward, landing on his ass next to the canal milliseconds before his skull cracked into a lamppost. He slumped to the side and his head bobbed twice; he was completely unconscious, which was the least of his troubles considering the furrow running through his abdominal cavity.

She nudged him with her boot and wiped Fuchi dry on his coat. It would need a thorough cleaning tonight when she got back to the island, she thought absently. She gathered his ankles in the crease of her elbow and began dragging him down the block toward the building with the Marine logo, a smear of crimson recording her trail.

His head bounced along the staircase and into the Marine lobby, where she dropped his legs and flung her upper body onto the counter. The muscles of her arms and hands were burning with fatigue, and her right shoulder didn’t seem to want to move much at all.

She pounded on the desk bell. Where was everyone? The bounty-hunting detour had wasted enough time already; now that the difficult part was over, she just wanted to hurry back to the boat.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” called an ancient Marine with a thick, gray bun that nearly doubled the size of her head. “What do you need?”

“This,” Kasumi huffed, “is Saltpeter MacLaine.” Her boots squeaked on the marble floor as she shifted onto her other leg. “I want his bounty.”

The woman frowned. “Bounty? I haven’t done one of those yet. BEARCLAW? I GOT A BOUNTY HERE!”

Bearclaw sauntered around the corner and sized up Kasumi across the counter. “Listen, Thorngully, I know you’re new here, and I know you miss your MP beat, but you can’t just yell for me every time something happens in the office. There’s a manual in the shelf that explains exactly what to do with bounties, and I think it would—”

The older woman stamped her foot. “HOW DARE YOU? I’ll have you know that I’ve been a Marine longer than that _manual_ —or even you—have been in existence! Just show me what to do, you bucket of aphids!”

Kasumi’s arms fell to her sides, leaving only her chin on the counter. Of all the nights to get a newbie on the job!

“I just want my money,” she stated, “Cash. I won’t take a cashier’s check.”

Bearclaw smirked. “You’ll take whatever we give you, Missy. We only distribute cash if the bounty is lower than a hundred thousand.”

“It is. Give me my money.”

The Marines sifted through the book of bounty posters until MacLaine’s face stared back at them.

“Alright,” Thorngully announced, “Saltpeter MacLaine. Highwayman. Wanted on 16 islands. Dead, he’s worth 45-five.”

“He’s not dead.”

Bearclaw raised an eyebrow and pressed a button under the counter. “Recovery and ID team requested in the lobby. Prisoner appears to be DOA.”

“HE’S NOT DEAD! I want the full amount!” Kasumi insisted.

A pair of grunts emerged from a side door and hastily examined the criminal heaped onto the floor.

“Matches the description. Pulse 40 BPM. Unresponsive.”

MacLaine was stripped and hoisted by his hands and feet onto a gurney, then wheeled away unceremoniously.

“See? He’s still alive. Give me my money.”

Thorngully’s face twisted up into a snarl. “Just who do you think is giving the orders around here? He’s not going to make it overnight, and you can’t just stumble in here and demand—”

“If he dies, that’s on you. I brought him alive. I’m not responsible if he dies in your hands. What if you take him back there and kill him just to cheat me?” She locked eyes with Bearclaw, her only hope now that negotiations with the woman had turned sour. “Give me my money. I did my part.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment until Bearclaw decided to put Thorngully in her place.

“Alive. That’s…” he mumbled as he stared at the bounty poster, “65 thousand. Cash. Your name?”

Relief washed over Kasumi like a sudden tide. Finally! Mihawk was probably worried about her by now.

“Shikkearu Kasumi. I'm a… an assistant to Dracule Mihawk.”

Clouds of coffee breath exploded from both Marines. “Bahahaha! What’s that now?!”

Bearclaw stifled his guffaws and leveled with the young lady. “Look, I’ll give you the live bounty amount, but we’re not stupid, Miss. Dracule Mihawk doesn't have ‘assistants.’ And if he did, they wouldn't be pulling in shit bounties from random bars. We need a real name, too. The Shikkearu are all dead.”

Kasumi’s heart became nearly as heavy as her arms. After hiding her identity for so long, she finally had a chance to stand on her own while giving her true name, near-boasting about her relationship with the World’s Strongest Swordsman! If they had any sense at all, the Marines would be shivering in their boots at the mere mention of her family name, not to mention her official affiliation with Hawk-Eye Mihawk!

But it was already late, fully dark outside, and the stupid Marines were taking too long. This errand should have been over by now!

“My real name is Eve Midnight,” she mumbled, “I have a card on file here.”

“See?” Thorngully scolded, “That’s more like it. Never try to lie to the Marines, Missy.”

After a bit of paperwork, a couple of stacks of bundled bills were presented to her in a red paper sack. “All right, there we are, Miss Midnight. Come back when you get another one. Take care out there.”

“Thanks,” Kasumi grunted mid-turn. She quickened her pace toward the door and was in a near jog by the time she’d reached the sidewalk. The water-taxis were nowhere to be seen—off servicing some evening hotspots, most likely—and her shopping bags full of clothes were still (hopefully) waiting for her on the rooftop across town.

She rushed to the warehouse, chanting herself words of encouragement along the way. _Just a few more blocks. Mihawk will understand. You did a good job. Just a few more blocks._

The sacks were waiting for her in peace where she’d left them, and she grimaced as she tossed them over her shoulder. With this bounty, she’d have more than enough to pay Mihawk back for the clothes, and still have some personal spending money left. _You did good. Mihawk will understand. He’ll be happy for you. You did it! By yourself! Almost there._

Her legs and arms cried for rest, but she thundered on in determination, navigating the dark path to the spot where Mihawk always docked.

There at the edge of the grass, he circled and paced near the entrance to the cove. Where should he search for her first? Or perhaps he should remain with the boat, in case she returned? What if that Fortier-boy had troubled her again? She’d been gone far too long! What if she’d been accosted by some foul villain hell-bent on doing her harm?

He crouched and prepared to leap away, determined to destroy the entire city if he had to, when he sensed her nearby. She appeared in short order at the top of the hill, waving her left arm high in the air.

_“Mihawk! It’s me! Sorry I'm so late! But you're not going to believe how much—”_

“WHERE IN BLAZES HAVE YOU BEEN?” his voice rattled through the cove.

“I caught a bounty!” she sang, “And I did it all by myself. I thought it would be quicker than it was, so I'll remember that for next time, but I had a good fight, and look at all this money!”

A grin lit up her face as she extended the red sack toward him. “65 thousand!”

Quick as a cobra, he plucked the sack from her tired grip and sent it soaring over the sea, where it plunked into the darkness. “MONEY?” he roared, “Hime-kun, this city was nearly reduced to a watery paste because you were missing! Why would you deceive me so?”

Kasumi stabbed a finger into his chest. “That money was mine, you ass. And I didn’t deceive you. I was just a little late.”

His eyes were afire in the moonlight, not with anger, but with near-panic at what could have been and irritation at her stated reasoning.

A soft “Oooo” sound had enveloped the cove, and she grasped his hands in hers and felt her own sense of panic rise as his diminished.

“I didn't deceive you,” she said hurriedly, “I thought you'd be impressed. I thought you'd be happy for me. I wanted to surprise you. So you could see I can do it.”

“Board the ship. We're going home,” he barked as he tossed her clothes sacks onto the boat.

The frustrations of the night finally caught up with her, and hot tears began to well up in her eyes. Why couldn’t he just be happy for her? “Mihawk,” she started, “I'm sorry I was so late. I'm sorry I made you worry. But I thought I could prove to you that I'm a good fighter.”

“By risking your life and concealing your intentions from me?!”

The boat began sailing out of the cove and skipping over the wake as they circled around the northern tip of the island, headed west to Kuraigana. Mihawk sat and fumed in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, while the princess squatted on the deck, quickly dissolving into a puddle of anxiety.

She’d mis-predicted his reaction. Of course. She’d fucked up, again, as usual. He’d probably never trust her again. She hadn’t thought of it as deceit! It was just supposed to be a fun surprise! If it hadn’t gotten so late, everything might have turned out different. It was those damn Marines’ fault! If they hadn’t been so slow.

“I guess I just wanted to go out on my own and see what I could do…”

In an outburst surprising even himself, he sprang from his position, and she instinctively popped up to meet him. He towered over her, his eyes dark and his mouth contorted with indignation. “To see what— to deceive me? To go off and die without me? To leave me in the dark while you cash out some two-bit ruffian? DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT THAT BADLY?!”

Kasumi held her ground, her face stern and resolved. But a nervous swallow passed through her throat, only barely visible in the moonlight.

Mihawk had seen that look before. On fighters who were trying to pretend they weren't intimidated by him. On fighters who were bluffing.

His angry expression dropped in an instant and his eyes closed while he took a deep breath. “Rabbit, come and sit. Just sit a while.”

A swarm of clouds passed in front of the moon, leaving only the fading lights of Water Seven to illuminate the sea. Kasumi welcomed the darkness as her tears began to spill out past her trembling lips.

_“I told you I would do something awful.”_

She plopped down on the deck and scooched away from him to her usual spot. Her mind tumbled over catastrophic possibilities. He wouldn't trust her anymore. He’d never take her anywhere again. He'd kick her out of the castle. He’d never feel the same about her. She might as well just jump into the water, swim back to Water Seven, and start this entire “adult” phase over from scratch. She sobbed without a sound, clenching her snotty sleeves in her fists.

Mihawk wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to tell her all was forgiven, but he was still sore over the ordeal. Why must she overreact to everything? She was the one who’d wronged him, not the other way around!

“Shikkearu,” he spoke softly into the darkness, “surely you can appreciate my perspective. You were missing. You fought without me. You misled me.”

He waited. “Dear?”

Peeking behind him, he found a blubbering mess.

_“I thought you'd be impressed. Like a fun surprise… I ruined everything and now you won't—”_

He passed her his handkerchief and tried to reason with her. “Eh, Kasumi-yo. Nothing is ruined. I thought those feelings were behind you.”

“But you’ll hate me now!” she squawked.

His hand grasped hers and within an instant, he was sitting beside her. “I don’t hate you. I was concerned for you because you’re dear to me. And you’re still dear to me,” he whispered before lightly kissing her cheek.

He offered her his arm. “Come and sit. I need to feel you safe in my arms.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Ka-su-mi…”

She tugged at his elbow and he pulled back, playfully sending her into the air before swallowing her in an embrace.

“Am I still cross with you, princess? Yes. But it will pass.” He plopped down onto his throne with her in his lap and continued, “Much like the passing storms of summer… a tempest of the heart—though it were merely a show of firebolts, more distressing to the imagination than a hazard to life and limb—subsides at its own pace, I’m afraid… and your absence caused me quite a jolt.”

She tossed her legs over his thighs and draped an arm over his chest. “I’m sorry, _ani_. It was a dumb idea.”

Mihawk sighed and struggled to pronounce a phrase so foreign to him: “I apologize as well, rabbit. For raising my voice to you. And about the money. I never doubted your ability to collect a bounty. Were you injured at all?”

“No.”

“Then might we two simply rest for now? And when we reach the castle, you can regale me with the tale of your adventure over dinner. And wine.”

The boat drifted lazily toward home and they lay together a long while, basking in the familiar comfort of each other’s arms.

They were nearly home when he saw it: the unmistakable square rigging and billowing sails of a brig in the distance. Too far to be a threat to Kuraigana, but edging on the border of his personal territory.

“By Fortune’s wheel…”

“Excuse me?”

“Hime-kun,” he hissed, “it appears we have some interlopers who deign to encroach upon… the radius of our lovely home. Are you up for a battle?”

No sooner had the words left his lips than she was crouched at the prow, muscles tense as a steel cable. “Where?”

He waved his hand vaguely ahead. “There. Maybe 10 miles? A few minutes from here?”

 _“I can’t see that far, you know!”_ she scoffed.

“Mmh,” he acknowledged, “You’ll accompany me, then?”

A soft grunt rumbled through her chest.

“Stay close to me and fight at your limit. I’ll occupy all but your current opponent. Fight until you’ve had your fill. I won’t allow a scratch upon your shadow.”

Kasumi huffed with pleasure, then an electric sizzle ran through her spine while she drummed on Fuchi’s hilt. Fighting to exhaustion: the pleasure she’d been denied by MacLaine. Chopping at targets until she could lay bare her emotions, spectators be damned. Free. Sliding her blade through meat again and again, like an oar in the wake. Like a hungry scythe mowing across an expectant meadow. Cut. Sever. Slice. Her sword blackened in anticipation.

A firm hand cupped her shoulder. “Hime-kun?”

_“Mh?”_

“I’ll give you a signal. Then do as you will. I’ll protect you.” His eyes closed in smug assuredness. “Not a scratch.”

By now, the brig was obvious on the horizon, though Kuraigana was shrinking behind them. Fuchi rested loosely in her grip. Her head rocked forward in time with her breath, and her pupils opened impossibly wide. MacLaine. Marines. Mihawk. Fuchi held the promise of a clean slate.

A cannonball landed in the water a few yards ahead of them and a lanky arm wrapped under her armpit.

_“Imo?”_

A snort escaped her throat.

The pirates aboard the brig began to panic and call out to one another in a language she’d never heard before, but their intent was clear. Whoever was aboard the tiny boat with the odd furled sails was giving off a sickeningly ominous aura that hung over the sea like smoke.

Several more shots were fired toward them, but Mihawk took no action, easily judging that the missiles’ course would clear the two. “I, eh, will you wait here until my signal?”

A droning buzz sound filled his ears while cannonballs crashed into the sea around them.

“Dear?”

The snarl on her lips and the twitch of her shoulders informed him that he had no audience with her at this point—he might as well be speaking the same foreign tongue as the intruders!

“I suppose I’ll bring you along now, then” he sighed.

He bound her wrists in his palm, long finger providing a cushion between the two, and leapt aboard the brig. For a moment the ship was silent, stunned by the audacity of the man with a tiny boat and an enormous sword.

Kasumi stood beside him, tense as a wound top, while he informed the pirates that they’d infringed upon the territory of Dracule Mihawk.

“These waters are restricted solely to my use. The wages of crossing them is… ablation.”

Once the proper introductions were made, he released her into the crowd, keeping a tight radius around her and knocking down anything that dared threaten her path.

Kasumi gnashed her teeth and wrenched her arms around to deliver cut after cut, spewing blood and tissue across the deck while Mihawk circled her like a moon, deflecting bullets and blades.

It was fun for him, to play guardian. A new handicap, a fun condition for a novel fight. To allow his _imo_ her indulgence while also relieving himself of the oversaturation of emotion he experienced during her absence. Now he was protecting her. She was satisfying her need. He briefly remembered what Eddie-Sensei had told him so long ago in Foxskip.

> _“Someday you’ll use these skills for more than just yourself, Hawk-Eye!  
>   Someday you’ll know what it’s like to save someone.”_

Kasumi whipped and thrashed, fighting with a reverse grip now that her right shoulder was nothing more than a ball of complaints. A clean strike across the belly made easy work of a man wielding a chain flail, and her lip curled up at the realization that she could have been taken out just as easily only a few months ago. Her head pounded with adrenaline, but the usual dissociation didn’t follow. Cognizant of Mihawk’s protection, her mind seemed to suppress the full power of her frenzy, and the beast’s chains held taut.

A dozen! Two dozen! Scores of pirates fell at her blade while Mihawk dispatched with the gunmen and top brass. Relieved of their distance-fighters, some of the crew took up bows and began to scale the masts and ratlines in search of a clear shot at the intruders. Within seconds, a haphazard bluster of arrows zipped toward her head as she dislodged her sword from yet another chest.

“Hime-kun,” Mihawk scolded before batting the arrows back at the assailants with a sweep of his black blade, “be more observant.” The men fell one by one to the deck, with arrows protruding from heads, necks, and hearts.

He leapt over a heap of gore and impulsively retrieved a bow; it had been so long since he’d tried his hand at archery! Dated and outmatched as they were, the weapons were an enjoyable test of skill and strength, and certainly worthy of his talents, especially while the rabbit was watching. He drew back the bowstring as he spun on his heels, released the missile and pierced through a line of 10 pirates who fell in a heap as they charged up from the hold.

Turning to see if his companion had noticed, he saw her stumble forward and grasp awkwardly at the netting over a pile of crates. Was the poor dear exhausted already? He never should have left her side!

The crates stirred, and his eyes caught a flash of color in the gaps between them. His vision zoomed in to see a sprig of orange hair rising over the crates. In a flash, he leapt and flew toward her, snatching her by the waist as the ambusher readied his blade.

The fool was dead before he’d hit the deck, his brains neatly diced by Yoru; the rabbit was safe.

> _“Someday you’ll know what it’s like to save someone.”_

“Humandrill-hime?” he breathed as he soared back to the boat, “Are you injured? You stumbled.”

She tightened her grip around him, one arm over his shoulder and the other around his waist, and buried her face in his sweaty neck. How embarrassing! She _had_ needed rescuing!

_“I just took a funny swing, that’s all. My shoulder is acting up.”_

Mihawk brought a quick end to the entertainment with a colossal shockwave that exploded the boat into a dusty cloud reeking of fresh lumber.

He set her down on the arm of his chair and briefly locked eyes with her before taking off his hat and, without saying a word, charging into her with the most passionate kisses she could imagine, nearly threatening to steal the breath from her lungs with ravenous embraces from his lips.

He stopped and stared at her face for a moment before beginning again, more forceful this time, while she reciprocated with matching eagerness and fire. When he came up for air, the emotions of the day flooded out, finally let loose by violence, and those difficult words were somehow as natural as stating any other plain fact:

“I love you,” he panted, “Kasumi.”

“I love you, too!” she laughed.

“And I’ll never allow anyone to harm you. Ever.”

She smiled and looked up at him, lovesick as always despite her exhaustion.

“I’m gonna get so strong that you won’t need to say that. Ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, I made up the town of Foxskip. I put it somewhere in the Organ Islands Archipelago in East Blue. More about it later!  
> [Organ Islands](https://onepiece.fandom.com/wiki/Organ_Islands)
> 
> [This chapter's Tumblr post](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/182885736391/part-2-ch-1)


	2. Done With the Compass

As they approached the island the air turned sharply colder, and the breeze blowing off the sea nearly took her breath away. Mihawk tied up the boat and then scraped a chunk of ice off the dock, wrapped the ice in his handkerchief, and presented it to Kasumi.

“What’s this?”

“It’s, eh, for your shoulder.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need anything for it.”

 _“Imo_ , you’ve been favoring it since you first rejoined me,” he said as he tied it into place with a bit of string, “Allow me to dote on you a bit, eh? For my sake?”

Kasumi rolled her eyes and helped him carry the packages of groceries and clothes inside the castle.

After putting away the groceries, she let Mihawk peek at her new clothes as she hung them in his closet. It seemed, though she wasn’t certain, that he was making faint, happy little sighs upon seeing each item. Once the violet dress was safely stored, she peeled off her clothes on the way toward the bathroom.

“Shower then?”

“Yeah.”

Blood swirled into the water while she rinsed off the evidence from their fight at sea. He murmured when he noticed her right shoulder was still swollen and ran his hand over it gently.

“It’s okay,” she told him, “I just need to wrap it a few days.”

“Mm.”

He lathered and rinsed himself in the blink of an eye—always the first one to finish any task—and stood staring at her while tiny droplets collected on his eyelashes. The princess simply fascinated him: a stunning sight, twisting and crouching, scrubbing and smoothing the water off her legs, muscles churning under indented and scar-striped skin. 

He smiled tightly and asked her if she was happy.

“Of course!”

“It’s that, it’s been a day of… mercurial emotions, and I sincerely wish you to be happy with this, with us, with all of it.”

She reached up and twisted a lock of his hair around her finger. “It _has_ been a stressful day. Most of that is my fault, I guess.” She kissed him softly on the chest before pressing against him and holding him there while the water rained onto their faces. “We’ll get some food and some rest and everything will feel better tomorrow.”

Her hand stroked the hair sprouting on his upper lip. “Are _you_ happy?” she asked.

“Mm.”

She turned and squirted a pool of shampoo in her hair, smiling as she worked it in. “That’s good to hear. You know, I was thinking we could spend some time tomorrow checking on the monkeys and—”

Her voice rattled on, but Mihawk’s mind was elsewhere. Her apology, and his joy at seeing her cut down the intruder pirates, along with the pleasure and pride he felt at being able to rescue her when her life was in danger, all of it still didn’t quite sew up the wound he felt from her sneaking away. It had been slowly eating at him all day; the question kept repeating in his mind.

A flat voice cut through the water like a scythe. “If you could live without me, would you leave?”

“Miho!” she gasped, “I love you!” Shampoo dripped down her back and into her face while she stared. “Why would you say that?”

Eyes sharp as daggers, he insisted, “You’re eager to fight without me. To leave me behind.”

“I didn’t need you to fight, that’s all!” She tossed her hair under the shower stream and gave him a half-smile.

Mihawk watched the bubbles slide down the drain. “Didn’t need me to spectate, either. Or to help you claim your bounty under your true name. Or to cheer you along, as I did when you pruned young Fortier. Would you stay with me even if you didn’t need my protection? Or my instruction?”

Kasumi’s jaw tightened, and her first instinct was to become ear-reddeningly angry. How dare he question her love for him? Or imply that she was using him! She ought to give him a piece of her mind and storm out of the shower! After all they’d been through today! She’d apologized already, and he was no angel himself!

“You can hardly expect me to—” she paused and looked up. His face was sincere and soft now; a hint of worry creased his brow. What remained of the terrifying man who sliced his enemies like radishes only an hour earlier? She began anew.

“Mihawk, how do you expect me to prove something like that? You want me to go raise an army without you and still come back to your arms? You want me to defeat you at swords and then maybe you’ll believe me when I say that I stay because I want to? You want me to train alone? Or train with someone else?”

The lines on his forehead tightened, drawn dark by shadows as he lowered his chin. Crimson eyes flickering, he asked, “Do you still dream of leaving here someday?”

“Yes, of course! I’d like to go out on my own for a while, just to see what I can do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you or don’t want to be with you. Why,” she asked while twisting her hair into a towel, “are you being so overprotective and clingy?”

“It’s all I can offer you.”

“That’s dumb,” she said plainly, “You make me happy in lots of ways, not just swordfighting. But you can’t tell me it’s wrong of me to want to test myself out there. It’s not a rejection of you. It’s an affirmation of myself!”

“Hime-kun—”

She grabbed a pair of new pajamas while she continued, “And furthermore, me leaving to go out on the Grand Line someday and make a name IS NOT the same as me leaving YOU. Understand?

“Rabbit,” he started, “your reasoning is sound, and your reassurances are most welcome… I suppose it’s—let me help wrap your injury—the clandestine nature of your bounty hunting that alarmed me. You hid your plan from me. Eh, in the future, don’t just charge into battle without telling me. Please.”

She fastened the bandage to itself and sighed, “I’m sorry I misled you. I didn’t realize it would make you worry I didn’t want to stay with you. I’m not using you for free lessons just so I can take off and forget you when I’m competent, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Mihawk leaned down and pressed his lips against the top of her head, heartened by her reply but a bit embarrassed that she’d named his concerns so bluntly. He dressed for bed and headed downstairs to make a quick snack while the princess combed out her hair in front of the fire.

She was thoroughly exhausted and sorting through her hair one-handed was a taxing chore. Still, she beamed at the knowledge that she’d held her temper in the shower while Mihawk had acted like such a child! Fearless as he was, it seemed he still harbored a fear that she’d grow tired of him and leave someday, sailing out for the Grand Line and never returning. Didn’t he realize how happy she was living here with him?! Sometimes she never wanted to leave his arms!

Yet… at other times his thrilling embrace felt more confounding than comforting. He treated her as if he were a child who’d caught a toad in his hands and was afraid to part his fingers, lest it leap away. It was clear to her that the only way to prove her strength to him was to jump from his hands and survive! When she returned, he’d know she stayed with him by choice and not out of necessity.

He appeared at the doorway with two plates of fried eggs. “It’s not much, but you must be starving, hime-kun.”

They ate atop the bed while they teased and flirted, Mihawk quipping that he hadn’t needed to stock any first-aid supplies until she’d moved in, and the princess retaliating with a remark about his puny mustache.

Once the couple settled into the covers, the island was silent and dark, save for their whispers and the light from the fireplace.

 _“I’m sorry the day was such a mess,”_ she offered, _“It didn’t go like I thought it would.”_

His hand stroked her hair and briefly lodged in a tangle. “Apologies are completed now, rabbit. No need to continue. I, eh, I’ll replace your bounty wages.”

 _“Good,”_ she said as she worked at the knot of hair. “Thanks for, you know, looking out for me tonight. I guess I didn’t see the guy behind the crates at all!” She cracked a grin. “You saved me, mm-hm-hm!” The knot loosened and she rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re my hero!”

He inhaled deeply and let the breath out with a smirk. “That is… a role I’m quite unfamiliar with, my dear.”

She drummed her fingers on his chest and grinned. _“Well, you don’t have to tell anyone about it. It can be our secret. My invincible swordsman.”_

In the morning, she sat on the bed and stared at the collection of new underwear and bras. A variety of fabrics and patterns, each perfectly tailored to her—they were almost too nice to wear!

“Mihawk? Can you come here?”

A pair of crimson eyes flitted from garment to garment and a heavy swallow passed through his throat. “What’s this?”

“They’re all matching pairs,” she informed him.

“Matching.”

“Yeah, which ones do you like best? I can’t decide.”

His nostrils opened wide as he surveyed his choices. “These, I feel, would complement you nicely,” he smirked, picking up a black set with tiny white polka dots. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers and added, “if you wish to keep them on long enough to be worth your while.” He leaned forward at his hips, wrinkling the mattress with the force of his knees, and softly growled.

She pressed her hand against the swelling in his pants. “Not yet. We have training to do!” she laughed, skipping to the dresser and retrieving her old underwear and bra.

“But… the spotted ones??”

“I’m not working out in my new clothes, Mihawk. You just have to wait.”

He very nearly pouted, but his desire turned into determination. “Hmph! Then I suppose it’s a fine test for me, to wait on you. I’ll attend your wishes, dear.”

He wandered down the stairway to prepare breakfast, muttering:

> Futile – the winds –  
>  To a heart in port –  
>  Done with the compass –  
>  Done with the chart! *

After breakfast, they met in the sparring room, where Mihawk dug through an umbrella stand full of swords. “Oi, humandrill-queen,” he said with a snarl, “what faults did you find in your latest bout? What shall I practice with you today?”

“I did fine!” she chirped, “And I hardly fought him at all!” She admired herself in the mirror; her shoulders, biceps, and forearms were bigger than ever, and her neck was looking as graceful and strong as a deer’s. She kicked out a heel to check her hamstrings.

He casually drew a long, curved scimitar out of the pile as Kasumi readied herself with a reverse grip.

“Then how did you subdue him?” he asked as he approached.

“I just got him to trust me and then I—”

“Did you…”

“No! Of course not! I may have winked at him when I first sat down, but after that I bought him a drink and then just told him to start walking, AND HE DID! It was great! But I lost control of him when I was almost there. I lost my concentration.”

He brought the sword in a slow arc to meet Fuchi, and she sensed that his hesitance had more to do with allowing her time to finish her story than with going easy on her injured shoulder.

“So he came at me and I did the coolest _passata sotto!_ Shlip! Right into his belly! Of course, he wasn’t expecting it and I ran him all the way through. It was kind of a hassle but, you know, I can handle it and he was really nasty so he deserved it.” She tapped against his sword several times, but he hardly pushed back at all.

 _“Passata_ —ugh. That was foolish, hime-kun,” he said as he snapped into action and forced her wrist downward, “That move is unnecessarily dangerous.”

“Well, it worked,” she laughed. “So I hauled him to the Marines and got my money. Which you threw away, by the way. You owe me 65 thousand Beri.”

His blade swept hers aside, and he began working over her upper half in hopes of baiting her into the move that had served her well on Water Seven. It would be no trouble at all to block her strike and prove the folly of such a technique. He tempted her again by closing his eyes and settling into a familiar rhythm.  

“You’ll be reimbursed. Were they,” he asked mid-drill, “surprised to hear your name?”

“Um, yeah, actually. They didn’t believe me. I used my old street name.”

“Eh?”

“Eve Midnight,” she mumbled.

Mihawk’s face was set in stone, but his abdomen tightened with a stifled laugh, “Well, that’s certainly… a, eh, a memorable alias…”

“Shut up,” she smiled, “I made it up the first night I went out on my own a few years ago! I know it’s awful! But they have a card on file there for Eve Midnight, so what was I supposed to do?”

“Kukuku! Did you mention,” he asked while shuffling toward her, “my name?”

Her eyes turned to the floor so she could test his willingness to defend his low line. The height difference between them sometimes gave her an advantage when she attacked below his knee, and today it felt like he was giving her an invitation to test it.

“Yeah. But they didn’t believe that either. They told me Dracule Mihawk doesn’t have assistants. They, ah, think Eve Midnight is a silly dumb girl.”

“Hm.”

“It might be alright, you know? If I can play at this a while and get stronger? Eve Midnight doesn’t have the baggage of Shikkearu Kasumi.”

“Hm?”

She moved in and faked a lunge toward his belly, dipping her neck slightly and hoping he’d buy it. Obviously, he was trying to trick her into the same move that she’d used on MacLaine; he never passed up a chance to prove himself an expert!

“I mean, I can do what I want, can’t I?” His blade followed hers despite the misdirection; she should have known she couldn’t trick him with feints! “I’m free of that name if I want to be. And using a fake name destroys their preconceptions and makes me unpredictable.”

His mouth gathered into a smile. “Not if they’re seasoned enough to, eh, predict the actions of a brash young peacock who flashes its brightest feathers at every foe.” He struck the scimitar against her with a teeth-vibrating clang. “Don’t let Eve Midnight become your goal. She has just as much training ahead of her as Kasumi.”

They stood and stared at each other with their blades locked, Kasumi breathing out puffs of steam into the frigid room while Mihawk appeared no more winded than if he’d just awaken.

“I can be whoever I want to be. And I want to be a bounty hunter. I want to survive for a living. I want to fight and cut for a living.”

His lip curled up. She couldn’t tell if it was a genuine smile or a smirk of derision. “Fight me hard, rabbit. Demonstrate your eagerness to grow strong.”

“Now? My shoulder is—”

“Fight me as hard as you can,” he insisted through clenched teeth. Did she not realize just how great the gap between them was?

She stepped back and swung from her feet, Fuchi snapping in straight path to his chest. She knew the strike wouldn’t connect, but it might be enough to jolt him out of his dumb request.

The scimitar halted Fuchi like a hand waving away a fly. Before Kasumi could regroup, he came at her with a vicious volley of blows, quicker than usual and lacking his usual friendly give-and-take.

“Wh—slow down! You’re going too fast!” she grunted as she scuttled backward.

“Loose your typhoon, _Eve Midnight, bounty hunter.”_

Between parries, she saw his eyes were drawn narrow like red sparks. His intensity fueled hers, but it seemed every successful block only strengthened his next attack.

“Ignite!” he growled as he swung at her head.

Kasumi ducked and snarled. _“What do you want?”_

“DO. YOU. WANT. TO. IMPROVE. RABBIT?”

_“Of course.”_

“Then practice with me! Go to the edge of your ability,” he bellowed between strikes, “and refrain from falling off into oblivion. Aim to walk on the rim.”

A smile crept up her cheeks. _“You want me to fight you hard?”_

He paused and chewed the inside of his bottom lip so very slightly. “Yes, you wild little thing. Do your worst. I’ll reel you in, eh, if you escape yourself.”

A puff of air escaped him as she shoved him away to get some clearance before charging back with a whirlwind of blows that whistled and whispered, each song cut short by the clanging of steel on steel.

He shuffled backward and laughed as she grunted. “There we are! Keep it up, foolish one.”

_“Shut up.”_

“Iya, it’s, ah, nothing more than the truth. You’re a foolish little girl playing bounty hunter who’s bound to get herself killed with silly _passata sottos_ and, ah, lack of attention to men in crates.”

Fuchi blackened. The princess slapped against the scimitar with her blade, her face gnarled like a tiger mid-pounce. How dare he! What was left of her patience was slipping out of her hands. 

He allowed his blade to retreat, only a few centimeters. Good. She was furious.   

She snapped forward like a branch that had been pulled back and released. Fuchi stitched a path in front of him, whistling and popping on either side of his bare chest while he swatted away each attempt with a flick of his wrist. She could feel the anger building, bolstering her strength and speed, urging her onward.

Mihawk tossed the scimitar from hand to hand in a smirking taunt. The princess’ faculties seem to have improved! He darted in and out of her range and swatted at her blade as she fought on the teetering edge of abandon. Could he push her farther?

“You’re a novice, Shikkearu. And you have no right to call yourself a bounty hunter.” He pressed forward slightly, and the princess received a nasty jolt through her blade.

The shock of it set Kasumi to boil in the way her ancestors had for nearly 500 years. Her rage was white-hot and frantic, like that of every descendant of those telepathic Shikkearu children who were loaned to the Celestials and never came back the same. That anger was a warm blanket of dissociation, a familiar friend that never betrayed.

Rational thought was beyond her now; her arms moved on their own, oblivious to the pain in her shoulder. Every skill she’d mastered came forth to attack and defend the princess from what wanted to destroy her.

Fight.

Cut.

Kill.

Mihawk, although he’d quite enjoyed the upgraded practice session, grimaced when he saw her eyes unfocused and cloudy, as if the storm in her mind had spread to her vision. She’d ventured too far. Fuchi’s strikes grew dull and predictable. It seemed she’d lost the tether to herself and was now only an armed machine, chopping at everything and nothing at once. This… was not good practice.

\----

“Ay, lil’ Hawk-Eye, ay, ay!”

A firm hand held Mihawk’s wrist tight; Eddie’s forearm lay across his sternum.

“Ay, kid. You’re not using your head.”

Seven-year-old Mihawk snorted and panted, infuriated by the man’s inexplicable ability to hold him back. Not even the strongest swordsman in Sabaody could restrain him! Yet, this old man halted his actions easily with his flabby, sunburned arms!

“You gotta lot of strength in ya, but you have to be smart. Don’t just slash at shit. Don’t take **any** strike if you don’t have a specific reason for **that** strike. Otherwise, you’re— you’re just bein’ an asshole.”

Mihawk swallowed and nodded once at his teacher.

“And asshole swordfighters don’t win in the long run. They get cut because they’re wasting too much fuckin’ energy. Got it? Be smart.”

Mihawk began the drill again, advancing on Eddie’s near-impermeable defense, his tongue pressed tight against his teeth.

“There you go! Use your head! You’re a smart kid, you clever little shit!” Eddie grinned and allowed his student to back him against the holly bushes.

“That’s good now, lil’ guy. I’m proud of ya!” He grabbed the boy under his arms and tossed him onto a nearby leaf pile, where Mihawk landed with a dumb expression. “Hin-hin-hin! That’s all you need! Strength is nothing without control. Remember that!”

\----

Mihawk planted his feet and pushed Fuchi aside with ease. “Shikkearu! You’re losing yourself!”

Kasumi heard nothing. She lunged for his chest and screamed, her eyes blank beneath the mess of hair that had long-since found its way out of her ponytail.

Quick as a spider strike, he tilted the scimitar horizontally and popped Fuchi from her hands. It tumbled end over end through the air while Kasumi continued her follow through and, without his parry to stop her momentum, crashed into his chest. Mihawk reached overhead and caught the falling broadsword before tossing it along with the scimitar to the floor.

She flailed against him, entirely lost in a battle that, as far as she was concerned, was still taking place. Drops of sweat and spittle blew from her mouth with every heaving breath, and she wrenched her arms against his grasp.

“Kasumi?” He held her wrists firm in his solid hands. “ _Imo,_ dear, you went too far. Come back to me.”

Through the din of her own snarling, she heard his voice but the words were unclear, as if they came from behind a waterfall. Where was he?

Mihawk continued to hold her in place as her twists and spasms slowed. “Ka-su-mi. Calm yourself. Control it.”

_“Mi—”_

He turned and pressed her back against the cold stone of the slotted wall. “You had it for a moment, didn’t you? You held its reins.”

She slid down the stones, a smear of sweat marking her trail. _“Fuchi.”_

“Is safe,” he answered, “and so are you. You did well, uh, up to the moment you lost your hold on yourself.” He crouched down to look her in the eyes. “You’re getting quite strong, little turnip! Just… work at regulating it a bit more.”

Kasumi blinked and panted as she worked her way through the muddy haze and back to the cold reality of the sparring room. What time was it? What _day_ was it? How long had they been fighting? Was she hurt? Was he? The last thing she could recall was his taunt right before everything went foggy.

_“Is everything okay?”_

“Kukuku, of course it is, my dear!” He brushed her hair away and pecked at the apple of her cheek. “Let’s get some lunch and then have a nice nap, eh?”

She rose shakily to her feet and wobbled. “Miyok,” she slurred barely above a whisper, “can I have justa minute?”

“No, you may not,” he smiled, tossing her onto his shoulder and heading off to the kitchen, “this room lacks the… resources necessary for your recovery.” He continued as he paraded her through the castle, “And it’s clear that you require a cool towel and a good meal. Tomato. Spinach. Radish. Sprouts. Cucumber. Spicy mustard. That’s what we’ll have!” He stretched out his arm like a magician waiting for applause: “Sandwiches!”

If it hadn’t been for the mustard, Kasumi might’ve eaten the entire meal in a daze.

After lunch, she stumbled half-awake to the bedroom for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Feeling more like herself, she joined him in the parlor for an afternoon nap with the two chaises pushed together.

“Ah, rabbit, before you lie down…” he muttered as he produced an ice pack and a bandage strip.

She peeled off her shirt and sat in place while waiting on him to begin wrapping her shoulder. Instead, he only stared at her with his ringed eyes fixed in deep concentration. “What’s the matter?”

His eyes quickly shot back to their normal state. “Ah! Nothing, hime-kun. Just admiring… your new apparel… the spotted ones look lovely, as I thought.”

“They’re called polka dots, not spots,” she laughed as she swatted at him with the loose end of bandage.

“Mm. Seems a shame to cover them up.” He tilted his head and sighed, “But I suppose it’s for the best. Once you get a little stronger, it won’t be injured anymore.”

Her eyes opened wide. “That’s… not how injuries work, Mihawk.”

He gave her a quizzical, bird-like expression. “When I’ve had bruises or cuts, they just faded away over time as I trained…”

“THAT’S BECAUSE THEY WERE BRUISES AND CUTS! THEY FADE NATURALLY!”

“Oh?” he asked as he fastened the bandage, “So how long until this fades?”

Kasumi couldn’t believe her ears. Was he really this ignorant? “It’s a soft-tissue injury. Inside. You have to rest it for a while. Weeks, months sometimes.”

“I see,” he said softly, “I’ve never experienced one of those. You should have said something during training.”

Much too tired to argue, she simply rolled her eyes and lay down. He really was invincible!

She woke before him and trekked outside to visit the humandrills ahead of dinner. The shelters were obviously being used, each one cluttered with raincoats and leaves. Choco-chan found her right away, hooting and bounding toward her over the frozen swamp.

The monkey’s arms wrapped around her in a hairy embrace.

 _“Mm-hm-hm! Good to see you, too!”_ the princess smiled.

Cho-chan tugged at her hand and pulled her along with insistent grunts. The sun would be setting soon, and Kasumi was reluctant to go too far into the mangroves without a lantern.

_“What is it? Where are you taking me?”_

As they walked, more and more humandrills joined the hike, each one excitedly gesturing and squealing. Kasumi was beginning to fear that they were only leading her in circles, but she decided to play along, especially since it seemed so urgent to them.

Cho-chan stopped suddenly in a small thicket and reached her hand deep inside a clump of roots. Frozen wood snapped with a tremendous racket, and she pulled out the treasure: a medium-sized silver box.  

The humandrills gathered around as Cho-chan bowed and presented the box to Kasumi. It was surprisingly heavy, and the lid was nearly frozen shut. She breathed on the latch several times to soften the ice and saw two letters appear through the frost on the lid.

“S.M.” she marveled aloud.

With some effort, she opened the box and gasped.

A heap of gold coins sparkled in the waning daylight.

_“Is this—for me? Thank you. Thank you so much!”_

She laughed and threw her arms around Cho-chan. _“You’re such a smart monkey! Yes, you are! You’re just the best monkey on the island, you know that?”_

The humandrills swarmed Kasumi and held out their arms to her, each hoping for a chance at the same affection she’d shown their matriarch. Monkeys she hadn’t even known were present emerged from the woods in search of the signal of friendship shared by all primates: a warm hug and a soft pat.

The princess grinned and embraced as many as she could, showering them with praise. _“Yes, thank you! You’re such good friends to me! Oh, yes, friends! Me and you! Yes!”_

The monkeys hooted with delight until she’d touched every one of them and fawned over the gift to their satisfaction.

Delighted with her new gift, she excused herself to return to the castle and began heading north, the setting sun barely visible to her right. What a find! A silver box full of gold! With a mysterious person’s initials! Perhaps the public library at Water Seven would have some leads she could follow! Or maybe Mihawk would know!

The thought stopped her in her tracks with a laugh. Of course he wouldn’t know! He’d probably just say something like, “The Fates bring us mysteries which we cannot dare to solve” or some other trite nonsense. He was so cute that way!

In her happiness, she swung Fuchi around and delivered a white shockwave to a marble column covered with frozen moss. What a satisfying end to the day!

The column fractured into chunks, revealing a base topped with a Y-shape that reminded Kasumi of a bird taking off. Surely it was a good omen for the fortune she’d found, for her new life with Mihawk, for her future as a bounty hunter, for everything! Ecstatic, she lugged it into the castle. 

Mihawk met her in the great room and tsked at her for being late for dinner. As she was telling him about the treasure box, he glanced at the column.  

“Shikkearu. Is there a reason you’ve brought this _particular_ piece of rubbish inside?”

“I thought it looked like a bird! See? Here’s the head and the wings. I’m going to chip at it some and see if I can make it look right.”

He squinted at the hunk of marble. “For, eh, what reason?”

“To see if I can make it into a bird, dummy! Then I’ll have a pretty marble bird! And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to look at it. It’s my bird.”

“Do you… not already have a bird?” he smiled.

\----

An island away, fresh recruit Verbena Black adjusted her crisp new Marine uniform and checked her reflection in a window.

The ship was leaving soon, sailing to the base where she’d complete basic training and begin her new career. She hoped to end up here on Water Seven again someday, serving her hometown and maybe even becoming a mentor to street kids like she used to be. Today was the first day of a long voyage; there was no turning back now.

She leafed through a newspaper at the dock, skimming over an article about the progress on the sea train construction and another about some man who’d set a new record for consecutive victories in the Corrida Colosseum before her eyes were drawn to the headline “65,000 Beri Found on Northeastern Shore.”

 

> _Local 8-year old Shelly Pembroke called it the “happiest day of my life” when a red sack washed ashore yesterday while she was wading in the shallows. But once she opened the sack, a mystery unfolded. Along with the money was a receipt for a bounty cashed here at Water Seven not 24 hours prior to the discovery. The receipt was made out to Eve Midnight, which a Marine spokesperson confirmed was name of a bounty hunter who claimed a prize matching that amount. What happened to Ms. Midnight remains a mystery, but for now, Shelly says she’s in no hurry to find out._
> 
> _“She probably died. Or somthin’. Or a Sea King ate her GRRRAH! But it’s my money now! ♥”_
> 
> _The spokesperson confirmed that unless there was evidence of a crime, Shelly would be allowed to keep the money. She plans to buy a pair of roller skates and treat her parents to a well-deserved weekend getaway. We here at the Mizo Mizo Newspaper say, “Kudos to you, Shelly!”_

Verbena’s eyes watered over as she re-read the article.

Evie.

It wasn’t so long ago they’d been a team in the rough streets of Water Seven, stirring up trouble together nearly every night. When Evie had disappeared, Verbena assumed she’d moved on to make a name for herself, just like she’d always promised. Could it really be the same person? Dead?

“Oi, recruit! Boarding begins in half an hour. You need to start movin’ if you want to make departure.”

She quickly blinked away her tears. “Yes Sir! Sir, Yes Sir, Sir!”

“Name’s Sergeant Seaslug. You’d better get used to me, recruit, uh,” he glanced at the name on her uniform, “Black.”

“Nice to meet you, Sergeant! Everyone just calls me Beans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines Mihawk mutters while walking down the hallway after seeing Kasumi’s underwear collection are from “Wild Nights –- Wild Nights! (249)” by Emily Dickinson. Being Mihawk, he’s disguising his horniness by only quoting the tamest part of the poem:
> 
> Wild Nights – Wild Nights!  
> Were I with thee  
> Wild Nights should be  
> Our luxury!
> 
> Futile – the winds –  
> To a heart in port –  
> Done with the compass –  
> Done with the chart!
> 
> Rowing in Eden –  
> Ah, the sea!  
> Might I moor – Tonight –  
> In thee!  
> \------
> 
> [Come visit me on Tumblr!](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/183302315736/part-2-ch-2)


	3. Prince of Kuraigana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: smut at the beginning

It was mid-morning, and training had just concluded. Kasumi had focused almost entirely on strength and stamina, while Mihawk watched and lifted weights on the patio. After her last drill, she buried her face in a towel and started down the hallway, looking forward to a cool shower, when an arm grasped her around the waist.

“Don’t be so quick, rabbit.”

“Mm hm hm! What do you want now?”

Wearing an awkward smile, he hopped in front of her. “You.”

She stood on her toes and pecked at his lips, smiling, “I’m all sweaty.”

“It’s… not a concern,” he breathed in between kisses.

She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him in tighter with a grunt. _“I guess it can’t get much worse.”_

Her lips found his, salty and sweet, and the frigid hallway seemed to warm with steam. The way he looked at her when she knew he could hardly contain himself nearly maddened her with desire. The world’s strongest, reduced to all but a puddle of hormones, two thin lips that could only growl, whisper, and kiss, and two ruby eyes. And, of course, the other thing.

A pair of muscular hands worked their way from her waist to her breasts in the dusty sunbeams of the corridor. “Princess,” he murmured into her neck, “if I might admit such a, ah, visceral observation, there’s simply something about seeing you today, sopped in perspiration and grunting with effort that, ah…” he thought for a moment as his hands reached up her shirt, “is quite difficult to disregard as far as—”

Her lips silenced him as she began to pull at his belt buckle with sweaty fingers. It had become his habit lately to mutter on and on during sex, only halfway making sense as he filled her ears with stumbling professions and heartfelt ramblings. Anticipation only worsened his delivery; although Kasumi found his sincerity charming, there were times she wished he’d just focus on the task at hand.

His buckle loosened, and she reached up to peel off her shirt and bra. The air in the hallway chilled her skin in an instant, but his body pressed against hers and a surge of warmth filled her core. 

Mihawk’s hands slid easily over her torso, landing at her waistband. “Darling,” he purred as he lapped at her while tugging off her pants, “You and I… joined in eternal delight to the stars and back. Ah, forevermore to be—”

His forearms found their way under her thighs and supported her while she rested her back against the stone wall. Within a few seconds, his prattling had stopped, and the only sound in the castle was the rhythmic smacking of two sweaty athletes working at the same goal.

Kasumi looked up at him and smiled. Though the stone wall was digging into her back, her mind was happily skipping in circles, dizzy with its own fleeting thoughts of excitement, love, and—most of all—happiness. This was bliss! This was better than any romance novel she’d read! He was hers, and she was his! This would never end! Two souls asea, destination unknown, with only the dreams of the stars to guide them! Each their own North Star, sharing one destination! It was like—

“Yowch!”

Mihawk stopped instantly, but held her midair like a forklift. “Hime-kun?”

“This wall is hard. And sharp.”

His arms wrapped around her back to cradle her against the now-wet stones. “Ah, dreadfully negligent on my part, princess. Perhaps we—”

She nodded across the hallway. “What about there?”

An ancient tapestry hung on the wall, a rather uncreative depiction of humandrill life in summer and winter. Dust exploded from the woolen scene as Mihawk turned and drove Kasumi’s back against the wall, still holding her with his arms under her thighs.

“Is this comfortable, my love? I certainly don’t want you to endure any distress, ah, for I would be ashamed to know that, if it were a matter of my own—”

She clenched his hair in her hands and grinned. _“This is fine. Mihawk, you’re adorable, you know that?”_ Relieved of the distraction, a fire began to build inside her as one of her hands moved down his chest. She hung onto his neck with the other hand and began working at the insistent pulse of her clitoris.

Under the timeworn eyes of the humandrills, the couple whispered and writhed, her gaze anchored onto his until her body tightened and snapped backward in spasms strong enough to cause her back to pop.

He swung up twice more before he clenched his teeth decisively and buried himself in her, with her trembling legs wrapped around his waist.

“Ah, **FUCK**!” he growled as the shiver worked its way outward from his core. His limbs suddenly felt as if they were made of pudding, yet he held her tightly as he collapsed to the floor, letting her slide through his arms until she was seated facing him in his lap.  

“Darling,” he panted into her hair, “you, ah, certainly please me… in such a way that—”

“I’ve never heard you curse before,” she laughed.

Sweat droplets scattered from his lips as he gasped for air. “Apologies. A rather crude remark, for such a lovely occasion. A regrettable lapse in register.”

“Mm-hm-hm! I don’t mind,” she said while stroking his back, “I think it’s sexy that you lost your mind for a bit. Feels good to let go, doesn’t it?” She tucked his wet locks behind his ears and tapped him on the nose with her finger. “I love you.”

“And I you,” he replied. “Rabbit,” he said between breaths, “I, eh, truly enjoy—” his voice caught on a wet spot in his throat, “—accompanying, _AHEM_ , being accompanied by you. You,” he mumbled while stroking her breast with his thumb, “you fascinate me.”

She exhaled. “And you me!”

He pulled her against his chest and kissed her softly again and again. “Ka-su-mi. Let’s make love this way every day.”

She leaned him back onto the hallway floor and rested her head on his chest. The sensation of the cold, dry floor against her skin mixed with the sweltering humidity between their bodies, and her muscles seemed to relax all at once.

“Well, we can’t every day. There’s a few days a month when… Remember last month?”

He nodded. “I suppose that’s unavoidable. It, eh, serves as notice that we’ve not created a bastard royal.”

She swatted at his face and laughed. “You’re too much!”

The hallway grew silent, and Kasumi felt herself slipping into the sleepy limbo between the desire to get up and shower versus lying in the hallway in his arms to sleep just a while. “Maybe someday though,” she mumbled.

As soon as she’d said it, she regretted the words. She hadn’t even been with him that long!

His chest rose much taller than before and seemed to fall as softly as a leaf. “I… think of it, too, rabbit. Imagine! The best and worst of us! This castle filled with mouthy little swordfighters!”

She didn’t reply, and he quickly added, “Ah, someday. If you want to. If you want to… with me.”

 _“Who else would I choose?”_ she asked, nudging him with her foot.

“And we’d be the King and Queen of Kuraigana,” he added, finally admitting the scenario he’d daydreamed about for weeks.

Kasumi laughed and squeezed his bicep. “King? No.”

Mihawk raised an eyebrow in false apprehension. “Am I not your King?”

She twisted her neck to look up at him and said, “Well, of course you are! But properly styled, the man I marry is the Prince of Kuraigana, the Queen’s consort!”

“Hm,” he smiled, “The Queen’s consort. Prince of Kuraigana. You and I. Married.”

“Someday. If I were asked in a few years.”

“Yes, a few years.”

“And if I were asked properly,” she added as they both began to succumb to sleep.

“Yes, your husband should ask you formally. On a proper stage.”

“That would be nice. I’ll bet I would say yes.”

Mihawk wiggled his back into the floor and sighed, “That would be wonderful. If you were to say yes to him. When he asked. In a few years. Once we’re both a bit older. When he asked.”

She nuzzled into his chest. “You and I.”

Their nap in the unheated hallway was predictably brief, and after a joint shower and lunch _,_ they found themselves nestled together on the chaises in the parlor.

“Shikkearu?” Two pools of garnets looked up at her.

“Mm?”

“I’m quite satisfied,” he said as his eyes closed, “with the state of our lives. At this moment… it seems as though nothing could disturb me at all.”

She coughed out a chuckle. _“It’s nice, isn’t it? Just to be left alone to live with your best friend?”_

The two fell asleep perfectly content, unconcerned by the existence of any outside distractions at all.

Kasumi was awakened several hours later by a hand shaking her shoulder.

“Rab-bit.”

“Uhm?”

He left the room and then returned, his boots clicking decisively on the stones.

“Rabbit?” he insisted, “It’s, ah, it’s my father. He’s approaching. By ship.”

“Well, of course it’s by ship, mm-hm! What’s he coming for?”

Mihawk grabbed Yoru from its resting place against the wall, then tossed Fuchi to Kasumi. “I haven’t the slightest idea…”

She caught her sword and fastened it into place on her hip. “Well, what does he want?”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“He’s going to come here.”

“Yes, and what do you want me to do?” she asked while rearranging her ponytail, “All I know is you snapped at me for mentioning him while your mom was here. Is there something you want me to know now?”

His eyes wandered in thought. “We, he, uh, he’s… a crow, while I’m a raven.” He stood arms akimbo and twisted side to side at the waist, readying himself for whatever might come.

“What the—? Mihawk, **really**!”

Suddenly realizing that she was entirely in the dark about his relationship with his father, he pushed up his sleeves and grasped her hands. “Shikkearu, I’ve not told you much in regard to him. Apologies. I would truly enjoy both of us to know each other’s history and secrets, even those matters of the heart of which we dare not speak, for the only true love is a love in which no side of the moon is unseen, and—”

His soliloquy was interrupted by an insistent buzz. Kasumi lowered her chin to glare at him and was squeezing his palms a bit harder than necessary.

“Rab-bit?”

She threw back her shoulders and the buzz grew stronger.

“Ah. Pssh! You want to know the plan. You could just ask, you know. You don’t need to attempt to beguile me.”

Her teeth briefly transformed into fangs. “I **DID** ASK YOU!”

His thumbs caressed her hands while he spoke. “Hmph. He is… not likely to stay here long. He’s likely… come for the New Year’s holiday. My mother has likely told him to come. It’s likely that he… has come to meet you. I forgot to call her back after I last told her that you hated me.”

“Then she probably thinks I’m awful! Or they’re worried about you.”

He kissed the top of her head, taking several strands with his lips when he pulled away. “They don’t worry about me, dear. I’m invincible, remember?” He strutted down the hallway toward the kitchen.

“Wait!” she cried, “What the hell does that mean? What do you want me to do when he gets here? I can’t read your mind, you know!”

He dashed back to the parlor doorway where she stood agape and picked her up around the ribs. Twirling her around in the hallway, he grinned, “Want you to do? Ah, nothing! You’re perfect! Just be! My love, if there were—”

He stopped when their eyes met. Her forehead was creased with a mixture of annoyance and uncertainty.

“Oh. Ka-su-mi,” he said as he placed her down. What would a person who’d never known the relationship between him and his father need to expect on first meeting? “He is… an old pirate and a brute. I don’t want you to like him.”

“Why not?” she asked, now that she was finally getting somewhere.

He led her into the kitchen and offered her coat and gloves while he buttoned a long wool duster around him. “Because he’s an insufferable, mercurial know-it-all. A hypocrite and a layabout. A philanderer.”

“Oh,” she said while pulling on the gloves. “I didn’t know.” Shakky had seemed so happy! Surely if Mihawk’s parents were divorced, he would have said something by now. “How long have they been separated?”

“They’re not.”

“Oh.”

“They have an agreement,” he added as his eyes darted around.

She sighed with the relief of finally solving his quiz. “Oh! Okay! You mean they have an open marriage?”

He nodded slowly.

“Well, that’s okay! As long as they really trust each other, it can work for some people, you know?”

“It… demonstrates a lack of commitment.”

“Just because it’s not for you doesn’t mean it’s wrong, Mihawk. They’re obviously committed. Lots of people live like that, perfectly happy!”

They made their way toward the dock, where a small ship was barely a speck on the horizon.

“I know that.”

She grabbed his forearm as they slid down an icy hill. “You shouldn’t hold it against him if it’s something they both agreed to.”

“Hm,” he coughed, “He’s also unpleasant. He’s stubborn. And argumentative. And always thinks he’s right. And he has a short temper. And he thinks he’s a better swordfighter than me. And his beard is ridiculous.”

“Oh, okay,” she mumbled. It was clear that she wasn’t getting anywhere with him. She was eager to meet this man for herself and see what he was like. Mihawk could be so childish sometimes! Of course he couldn’t articulate his feelings about his father!  

“Mihawk?”

He unbuttoned the coat he’d taken such care to fasten and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“I love you. When your dad gets here, what do you want me to do?”

“Just, just don’t get swept away by his image. He’s not as great as he makes himself out to be.”

The boat grew larger seemingly faster than it should’ve and before long, a ponytailed man was waving and smiling broadly. Mihawk tipped his hat once with a frown.

“Hey there!” Ray grinned, “Didn’t know it got so cold here this time of year!”

“Of course not,” Mihawk muttered as he walked down the dock, “You’ve never visited.”

Mihawk tossed Ray a dockline and Kasumi saw him stretch just a bit further than necessary so that his muscles flexed taut against his shirt.  

She clenched the lining of Mihawk’s coat and wrapped her arms around herself. The man wore a hooded cloak and a sly smile, like a simpler version of his equally-mysterious but showier son. His gait was the same as Mihawk’s: measured but unhurried, confident and cool despite the unfamiliar circumstances.

One eye pinched into a wink as he grabbed a small canvas bag over his shoulder and slapped Mihawk on the back. “Look at you!” he laughed as he stepped onto the dock, "Growing a mustache and… all.”

Mihawk grunted and forced a smile. “Welcome, _oyaji_. Why are you here?”

Ray guffawed as he made his way down the dock towards Kasumi. “A man can see his son for the holiday, can’t he? Your mother told me you had a roommate now! You must be Shikkearu!” he announced.

“Kasumi,” she said with as much grace as she could muster. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

Ray’s smile was warm but feisty. “None of it good, I’m sure! Wahaha! Name’s Ray. I’m afraid I’m responsible for this young man, haha!”

“Then I have a lot to thank you for,” she offered as Mihawk rolled his eyes.

The older man took her hand and gave it an unceremonious shake. “Glad to see you two kids are doing alright.”

Mihawk led them into the great room and brought out a tray of pickles and crackers as Kasumi loaded the fireplace.

“How was your trip?” she asked.

“Fine, fine.” He looked at Mihawk. “Your mom let me borrow your Vivre Card. Led me straight here, haha!”

“Well, that’s how they work…” Mihawk mumbled.

Ignoring the slight, Ray looked around the room and nodded. “This is a nice place.”

“It was my uncle’s castle.”

“Nice, nice,” he muttered. “You kids getting along for winter?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?—” Mihawk started.

“Yes! We’ve been doing fine,” she interrupted with a grin, “We have everything we need. Mihawk’s really thoughtful. He even showed me some things about the island I didn’t know!”

“That’s great.”

The logs in the fireplace popped and spat as the three sat in uncomfortable silence.

“Oh!” Ray remembered, “Your mom sent a package for you. And one for you too, Kasumi.” He produced two boxes from his bag and presented them to the couple.

Mihawk opened his to find two bags of dried beans, several jars of spices, a book called “Legends of the Skies: Constellations for Practical Sailing,” and a box of chocolate-covered almonds. Kasumi’s contained lotions, oils, cigarettes, and a pair of socks with chestnut pompoms.

“How sweet! Tell her I said thank you!” Kasumi grinned.

Ray leaned back and crossed his legs with a smile. “She was hoping you were still here. Though I assume she wanted the box for herself if you weren’t, wahaha!”

“That’s fair,” Mihawk deadpanned as he flipped through his new book, “Those socks wouldn’t fit me anyway.”

Her guffaw shattered the tension and the room seemed to relax all at once.

“So,” he nodded, “Shakky says you’re a swordfighter. That’s a fine-looking blade you have there.”

“Thanks! It was my dad’s. I used to have a cutlass, but, uh—”

“I took it,” Mihawk announced, “I gave her the Norishige instead. She assumed her blade, Fuchi, on her coronation.”

Ray nodded pleasantly.

Mihawk pressed his teeth together and mumbled, “You don’t even know what the Norishige is. You wouldn’t know it from a garden hoe.”

“Wahaha! I don’t need to memorize all those names!! I know a good blade when I feel one!”

“Disrespectful,” Mihawk pouted.

She lit a cigarette and dug around for an ashtray under the sofa. Were things always this tense between these two? Playing peacemaker was not in her repertoire; hopefully Mihawk would drop his childish act soon!

 _“Can’t you be a little nicer?”_ she asked him as she retrieved a crystal dish and tapped the cigarette into it.

He pressed his palms into his knees and stood with a sigh. “I’ll prepare dinner. I don’t believe my presence is required for your…” his hand waved through the air behind him, “chit-chat.”

They sat for a while and discussed current events, Water Seven, Shakky’s business relationship with Henri, and the backyard garden, with a mood much lighter than it had been with Mihawk in the room.

“So, Ray, what do you do?”

“I’m retired.”

She smiled and nodded. “What did you used to do?”

“Oh, I was a pirate.”

A wave of excitement rushed through her. “Really?! What was your ship called? Where did you go?”

A pair of twinkling gray eyes beamed back at her. “The Oro Jackson. To the end of the Grand Line.”

There was silence between them until Kasumi felt a pinch in her throat. “ _Are you… Silvers Rayleigh?”_

The corners of his mouth drew upward into the same roguish smile she’d seen from Mihawk. “Mm hm.”

She laughed and slapped her hand onto the sofa. “That makes perfect sense! Of course you two would be— Did you, did you really go all the way to—”

Mihawk entered the room with a cough. “Dinner is ready, imo. You too, oyaji.”

Bowls of stew awaited them in the formal dining room, along with several bottles of Sangiovese. A thorny silence passed among them, interrupted by comments about the stew.  

“Your mom would like this,” Ray offered, “You should write it down for her.”

“I’m sure my mother knows how to prepare a basic winter stew,” Mihawk shot back.

Kasumi was eager to soften the atmosphere. “How’s Shakky doing?”

“She’s good! Great! She’s doing good… We don’t see each other as much as we’d like.”

Mihawk’s soup spoon turned black.

Refilling his glass, Ray huffed, “C’mon, you know I can’t go back and live there all the time. Your mom has a pardon. The last thing she needs is me bringing the Marines around to stir things up.” He turned to Kasumi and gave a half-smile.

The dinner mood seemed to have shifted from uncomfortable tension to outright hostility. Kasumi, while much more comfortable operating in the later, suddenly understood Shakky’s easy-going smile. Playing referee between these two was exhausting!

“I see,” she said as she downed the dregs of her wine, “You must still have a bounty. Probably one of the highest!”

A pair of mischievous ringed eyes met hers. “Take him then, bounty hunter. Send him to Impel Down.”

The former World’s Strongest Swordsman let loose the first natural laugh since his arrival. “Wahaha! Probably not one of the highest, not anymore. There’s a lot of pups out there racing to take Roger’s place. Nasty, some of them.” He pushed away his empty bowl with a proud smile. “Luckily, Mihawk’s there to comb out the nits.”

His son popped a breath in his throat while he evaluated his father’s apparent compliment for sarcasm. Finding none, he offered, “They’re all cowards lately. Camouflage users. Deceivers. Civilian imposters. No good fights.”

“Mm.”

Mihawk swirled the last gulp of wine in his mouth. “Except. I saw Akagami. He enquired after you.”

A smirk spread over Ray’s face. “What’s he up to?”

“Going for the New World. Still wrangling together a crew. Still slow on the backhand. I gave him a decent cut to the shin.”

“My boys,” Ray told Kasumi, “my two apprentices. Still after each other’s heads, huh?”

She stood to clear the bowls and gave an unsure smile before Mihawk stole the dishes from her hands and walked nonchalantly to the sink. “And that other one. Then again, he was so incompetent that he needed a fistful of knives and a Devil Fruit to face down even a stiff breeze. I don’t know what happened to him.”

Ray bellowed with genuine laughter and followed the pair to the living room. He’d brought his own liquor, he explained as he drew two handles from his bag. “I knew all you’d have would be raisin juice.”

“It requires an understanding of subtlety,” Mihawk said with a smug expression.

By now, the banter between the two was beginning to try her patience. “Are you guys always like this?”

“Like what?” they demanded in unison.

“Rabbit,” Mihawk said, now that wine had loosened him enough to call her such in front of Rayleigh, “we’ve been at each other’s throats since the first day. How do you think I took his title?”

_“I’m trying my best here, ani. It’s hard to stand in the middle of a battlefield.”_

He swept across the room to join her on the sofa, where he lit a cigarette, coughed, and handed it to her. “Don’t fret, princess. After tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve, I’ll beat him so soundly he’ll never show his face here again.” A hint of sarcasm and mischief lit up his face; the wine had made him cheekier, but she was still unsure just how much truth lay behind each barb.

“Wahaha, kid!” Ray said as he plopped onto the sofa, “As I understand it, she’s the one in charge of this island! Sumi-chan, my son’s always been a sassmouth. Nothing new about that! Let’s have some drinks and relax a while!” he smiled, “There’s plenty of time to argue next year!”

Mihawk draped his arm over her shoulder, and something approximating a smile played on his lips.

Kasumi took a long drag and teased, “I don’t know how Shakky handles you two. You’re two of a kind, you know? So alike that you repel each other.”

Both men’s heads snapped back in laughter, and the evening that followed after that was cheerful and easy, almost as if her observation had broken a spell between them. Over the next few hours, wit poured out easily as they told tales of bravery and hijinks, rated the characters from the newspaper bounty posters, and discussed the current state of the Marines. Before long, Kasumi’s head grew heavy and the warm happiness of alcohol had turned into vertigo and a fleeting headache.  

After excusing herself, she took Mihawk’s elbow as he walked her upstairs, assuring her between kisses that he’d be in bed to join her soon.

He returned to the great room and dumped himself onto the sofa before pouring another glass. “She’s not used to drinking so hard.”

“She seems really nice, son. And what a goddess!”

“I didn’t ask you to judge her.”

“Shit, I just mean,” he said, cursing for the first time since his arrival, “I like her. She’s a good match for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to judge me, either.”

“Fuck, can’t I say your girlfriend’s cute? I just want you to be happy, kid!”

Mihawk stared into the fireplace and calculated whether he would need two or three more logs to outlast his father. “I don’t want your opinion on matters of love.”

Ray took a long swig and poured another. “Fine. That’s fine. Just appreciate the sentiment. I told your mom I would make this a pleasant visit.”

“Why did she send you?”

Ray kicked his boots onto the coffee table. “She told me to come check on you. See if you were alright after you’d told her you, ah, had issues with Kasumi. And to talk to you.”

“What does she want to know?”

“Are you happy? Do you love Kasumi? Are you kids alright?”

Mihawk’s scowl melted into thoughtful wonder.

 

> For your sake  
>  I didn’t even value  
>  My life  
>  Now how I wish  
>  It might be a long one!  *

“I’m glad to hear that, kid. You’re like your mom, you know?” he smiled as he gestured with his glass. “She’s got that ear for language.” He took a long sip before admitting, “I tried that on her once. Tried memorizing ‘Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day’ or something. Oh, it went horribly! She made me stop, wahaha!”

He leaned his forearms onto his knees and smirked. “You and Sumi seem to get along well. You’re an adult; I’m not going to lecture you about girls. Why don’t you tell me about her? I’ll listen.”

Wine and rum had long-since softened the men’s defenses, and words flooded out of Mihawk freely. Tales of Kasumi’s past, her future, her fighting strengths and weaknesses, her gifts, her viciousness and tenderness all gushed forth from him as Rayleigh smiled and nodded. His son, eyes much redder than usual, nearly burst with emotion while recounting their meeting, their training, and their triumphant reconciliation after the meteor shower. He’d taken her to sea as well, he mentioned, and she’d be a renowned bounty hunter someday, a fine fighter worthy of her name.

Ray nodded again and filled another glass. “That’s good, kid. If you say you’re alright, then I believe you. Has she, ah, told you everything about her family? Or, um, maybe there’s some aspects she doesn’t know?”

“What do you mean?” Mihawk asked.

“It might not be true,” he said while leaning back, “and I only heard it second-hand, but those people, ah, they weren’t always that way…”

The two stayed up talking long into the night after the fire died, saying their goodnights only when the first rays of sun peeked in through the eastern windows. Mihawk crawled into bed with Kasumi wearing only his underwear, too tired to change into pajamas.

“Dear. You, please understand that I love you without asterisk or fault. As you are and always. And I cannot bring myself to see you as anything less than a being who…”

“Mihawk?”

“Hh?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Of course not.”

“Mm-hm-hm! Your dad got me drunk too. He can really put them back. I thought it went well though.” She slipped an arm around his waist. “Did you guys get along after I left?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine! Why does everyone keep asking that?”

She pecked at his lips and then leaned back to grant him some space. “Because we love you!”

“None of you appreciate how deadly I am,” he slurred, “Rabbit, I—”

“It’s because you’re so talented! Me, your mom, the Marine with the goat, your dad, they all want what’s best for you.”

He slapped an arm around her. “I **know** what’s best for me. I want you. You’re best.” His mouth opened and he began to sleep with the duvet twisted around his foot.

 _“Tomorrow we can talk some more,”_ she said, _“Goodnight, Prince of Kuraigana.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come visit me on tumblr!](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/183802593071/part2ch3)  
> [Mihawk's Ch 3 Wine Selections](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/183925115258/part2ch3mws)
> 
>  
> 
> Poem notes:  
> Mihawk’s poem is by Fujiwara no Yoshitaka. It’s #50 in the Hyakunin Isshu. The translation is mine.
> 
> 君がため  
> 惜しからざりし  
> 命さへ  
> 長くもがなと  
> 思ひけるかな  
> Kimi ga tame  
> oshikarazarishi  
> inochi sae  
> nagaku mogana to  
> omoinuru kana
> 
> For your sake  
> I didn’t even value  
> My life  
> Now how I wish  
> It might be a long one!
> 
> The 1909 Porter translation has it as:  
> Death had no terrors, Life no joys,  
> Before I met with thee;  
> But now I fear, however long  
> My life may chance to be,  
> ‘Twill be too short for me!
> 
> The modern Watson translation says:  
> For your sake  
> I valued  
> Not even my life—  
> But how I’ve come  
> To desire it long
> 
> Wikipedia has it as:  
> I always thought  
> I would give my life  
> to meet you only once,  
> but now, having spent a night  
> with you, I wish that I may  
> go on living forever.


	4. Predestination

Mihawk had urged the rabbit not to allow the old man to interrupt their regular schedules and so the two went about their morning training, Rayleigh looking on in silent judgment.  Once they wrapped up, Mihawk slipped away to call Shakky and reassure her they were all getting along before settling in for a nap.

With Mihawk's insistence in mind, Kasumi started in on her newfound hobby.  She'd found a chisel and hammer in the woodshed, along with a metal file, the day after she’d hauled the column home. Hopefully, on her next trip to Water Seven she could stop by an art supply store—surely the City of Fountains would have stone-working tools! The library there would have some books about sculpting, and she might have a chance to research this “S.M.” who lived on Kuraigana and left their box of coins here long ago.

Hauling the hunk of marble to the second floor had been a challenge; Mihawk swept down the hallway with a flourish when he heard her grunt.

“Rabbit, if you insist on moving this… block of rubble around the premises, the least you could do would be to ask my assistance,” he tsked while snatching it from her arms, “Your shoulder.”

She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “It’s **my** project. And if you’re just going to make fun of it anyway, I’d rather do all the work myself.”

“I can carry it for you. Much more quickly.”

“I don’t care!” she said as she pulled it from him, “It’s mine. I don’t want your help.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied, though he followed her up the stairs, ever-ready to catch the block or the princess should either fall.

She waddled down the hallway with the column until she reached the room she’d decided on earlier: two windows for ventilation, good lighting, a big open floor, and access to the dumbwaiter. She spread a bedsheet over the floor and lugged the marble into the center of the room.

“Why are you doing this, again?”

Nearly exhausted, she flopped onto her back on the floor and rolled her eyes. “I told you. I want to see if I can carve it into a bird. I think it would look nice.”

“Dear, if you want something to be carved… you do live with Dracule Mihawk… and within a few seconds, I can create anything you wish.”

“That’s not the point,” she said, “I want to **make** something that’s **mine**.”

He pressed his lips on her sweaty brow. “Certainly. If it pleases you. Call me if the princess desires anything to further her artistic work. Or if she requires to visit with her muse.”

Her playful swat toward his head caused him to jerk backward, tousling his hair in the late morning light. “Who said you’re my muse?”

“Patron?” he smirked, “Companion? Artistic supporter? Chore-boy? Humble servant?”

“Friend.”

His crooked smile landed on her lips, and the project was inaugurated with the mixture of sweat and passion that should accompany any great undertaking.

Since that day, working at the marble had become her hobby, and Ray’s visit wasn’t going to stop her. The medium was much more challenging than she’d expected. Once chipped away, lost stone was gone forever, with no way to replace or mend it. The permanence of each mistake was infuriating; even if the broken pieces fit together, they could never be fused. Sculpting was quite possibly the most unforgiving task she’d ever tried!

A mistake or a miscalculation, even random chance, might cause her to rework the design and reshape the angles to accommodate a new set of conditions. Despite a few setbacks, she was compelled to move forward even if the sculpture wasn’t turning out quite the way she thought it would.

Ray appeared in the doorway while she was smoothing out the bird’s belly.

“Oh, hey!” she said as she wiped her hands on her thighs, “I figured you two kept the same nap schedule!”

Rayleigh grinned and drew closer. “Believe me, I have my share of naps. I guess I always thought Mihawk needs to sleep a little more since his eyes get tired.”

Kasumi blew on the bird and said she’d never thought of it that way. He’d just always seemed especially sleepy.

“Well, he’ll never admit it.” Ray crossed the room to look out the window. “That boy, he just can’t reveal a weakness.”

Pushing aside the insinuation, she joined him in the sunlight. The sun on the island this time of year looked much warmer than it actually was, and though the orange beams grew stronger each day, the air at the surface was still chilly and wet. Kuraigana would see summer soon, and the abrupt end to winter would bring birds, snakes, and humandrills out from their hiding places into the lush, humid swamp.  

“What was he like? As a kid?” she asked.

Ray smirked. “A stubborn little know-it-all. Cute as a button, deadly as an asp. His mother’s pride and joy, and he knew it. Best little swordfighter I’ve ever seen.”

He turned and looked Kasumi in the eyes. “He never had many friends. Or girlfriends. He’s… different.”

“He’s wonderful,” Kasumi corrected, “He’s perfect just the way he is.”

They stood and stared a while at the rise and fall of the whitecaps.

“Shakky told me what you told her. About your past. Mihawk told me some last night as well. I assume you kids have talked a lot?”

What was he getting at? “Of course we have. We’re in love!”

Ray smiled broadly. “I can tell. But with him a Warlord, and the title holder, and you a bounty-hunting princess, it might be hard for you two…”

“We’ve already spoken to the Marines,” she informed him, “And he knows my story. We’re both adults.”

“Apologies. Nice bird, by the way. I, ah, only ask because” —he stuck his hands in his pockets— “it can be difficult to manage two sets of goals in one relationship.”

“Oh?”

“His mother and I were…” His eyes glossed over as he stared out the window.

Suddenly reminded of her project, Kasumi set to work with the file while he continued.

“I met Shakky maybe 35 years ago. She was in a crew that gave me and Roger a hell of a fight.” He shuffled around the perimeter of the room. “She was a wild one!”

The file began to smooth out a pair of skinny bird legs leaping away from the marble base.

He leaned back against the wall and sighed. “We saw each other at sea every now and then. After a while, it seemed like we knew each other so well that we just clicked, you know. When we could be alone together it was like finding someone who’d known me my entire life. She’s, she’s just perfect. But we were both pirates! Both of us had reputations to uphold. Neither of us could, or wanted to, leave our crews.”

He selected a piece of stone from the floor and turned it around in his hands.

“When she got pregnant, she went home to Sabaody to live with her mother. Her crew was starting to fall apart anyway; it was a good time to leave. I tried to convince her to just come with me and Roger, but,” he offered, with a boyish smirk that Kasumi had seen hundreds of times from Mihawk, “I couldn’t tell her what to do. She wanted to raise the baby near her mother.”

She blew on the bird’s legs and stood back to check her work.

“I always felt like it was my fault she couldn’t live out her dream,” he concluded softly.

Oblivious to any point he was trying to make, she asked without looking over, “Do you want to take a walk? To see the swamp?”

He nodded and she led him downstairs to the kitchen to gather some treats before they headed out along the drawbridge.

Mihawk rolled over on the chaise when he felt them leave the castle. What was that old man up to?

She called out to the humandrills as they walked, and clumps of monkeys gathered cautiously behind them until they reached the crumbling training arena. The pair sat on a ruined bench, outstretched palms bearing crackers and fruit while Kasumi encouraged the monkeys to come closer.

_“Treats! Yes! Come here! This man is nice! Come and see him!”_

Wavering like a balloon, one brave female approached and inspected the man, touching his reddish-blonde ponytail and glasses with the same curiosity as a human infant. Ray laughed aloud and the monkey jumped back, startled by a deep and unfamiliar human voice.

_“It’s okay! Friends!”_

The baboon screwed up her courage and crept forward again to snatch the fruit from his hand before retreating to the troupe.

“They’re a little scared of Mihawk. I guess they’re scared of you too,” Kasumi said. “He, uh, he was a little rough with them when he came to the island. But he didn’t have to fight them! They’re really easy to win over with treats! They’re sweet! They’re like my extended family.”

“And you can talk to them?”

She dug another cracker from her bag. “Well, they don’t **talk**. But they understand what I mean. I just… you know, I suggest things to them.”

“And you can do that to people?”

“Not all the time. I’m getting better, though.”

A smile hid her frustration; surely Shakky had explained to him what she’d seen Kasumi do during her visit! Why was he quizzing her? It wasn’t any of his business what she could or couldn’t do! Being alone with Mihawk for so long had made her feel **normal** for the first time in years. Now all he wanted to talk about was how different she was! His questions reminded her of the whispers she used to hear from people outside the island: _They can talk to animals. They can control your mind. They fight like beasts._

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sighed, “Mihawk’s helped me grow as a fighter in a lot of ways. And I helped him, too.” Hopefully, a change of topic would bring a halt to his nosiness. He was just as curious and rude as Mihawk could be sometimes!

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you have! Do you enjoy training with him?”

“He’s great. He’s the first person who really challenged me to fight to my fullest. I just wish I had more people to practice with besides him. Well, him and the monkeys.” She patted the humandrill in front of her and offered another cracker. “They’re good fighters, by the way. Do you want to fight one? They like to play.”

He leaned back onto his palms. “I’m sure they do. But I’m more interested in you. I find you can learn a lot about a person in a spar.”

Kasumi smiled tightly, recalling when Mihawk had said the same thing to her the day after her arrival, back when he was testing her like a cat with a cricket. She’d grown so much since then! So had he. So had _they._

Hoping to put his curiosity to rest once and for all, she chirped, “Sure, I’ll fight you! This is actually my old training grounds.”

“Oh, I can tell,” he said as he removed his cloak and placed it on the bench, “This place suits you well.”

She shrugged while tightening her ponytail. “It’s my home.”

An enormous longsword flashed at his side as he readied his stance. “You know, I’m surprised I never ran into any of your family while I was at sea.”

She gave a soft beat with Fuchi. “They mostly fought around here. Mercenary stuff. They used to take a lot of jobs in North Blue back when it was such a mess.”

“Did you ever go with them?”

“No,” she laughed, “I’ve never been to sea except when Mihawk took me. The war here started when I was 10, and then I went to the barn a few years later, and… well, there’s a whole world out there I haven’t seen.” Her gaze settled onto his. “Now do you want to fight or do you want to interview me?”

Their banter died down as the sword conversation took over. Ray was strong; much stronger than Henri—almost as strong as Mihawk!—but he lacked the viciousness of his son. His bladework was so elegant, so graceful and light that Kasumi lost her concentration in awe of him.

While Mihawk sometimes seemed playful during training, his antics were usually just an excuse to show off or tease her. Rayleigh was less calculating; his swordplay was pure instinct with every action and reaction perfectly timed, whether to make her laugh or to make her grit her teeth.

His eyes crinkled in the late-morning light. Sumi was an entertaining challenger! Though it was clear she lacked experience, her agility and intuition were remarkable! She flitted about as lightly as a moth, struck hard as a bull, and anticipated his strikes with a confidence he hadn’t expected. So they _could_ sense their opponent’s next move! The Shikkearu were turning out to be as interesting as he’d hoped! She’d make a perfect partner for Mihawk, he thought, especially if she could improve.

Her attacks grew stronger and stronger, spurred on by Ray’s easygoing smile. “Did you teach Mihawk?” she asked between strikes.

“Me and,” he breathed, “his teachers. Mihawk was trained in a variety of styles, not just North Blue. You have all the hallmarks of the Western Region. Trained in the de Bergerac school, weren’t you?”  

Kasumi grimaced and delivered a spinning blow that knocked Rayleigh back several steps into the mud.

“Not that you haven’t mastered it, of course,” he quickly added. “North Blue style has its strengths.”

She laughed and turned her back as he extracted himself from ankle-deep muck. “Mm-hm-hm! Ray, you think I don’t know you let me do that? You’re funny! Going into the mud just to make me feel better!”

“I’m on my best behavior for this trip,” he grinned, “but I will say you’re a fine fighter and a good match for Mihawk.” He smeared the mud on his boots onto a nearby tree. “He needs someone to keep him on his toes.”

“Who does?” a voice boomed from the trees.

Kasumi jumped, but Ray had long-since detected his son’s presence.

“You do!” Rayleigh said, “And this little dragonfly is the perfect opponent. Once she gets stronger, that is.”

“Hm. I prefer to think of her as a rabbit,” he said as he alit onto a pillar.

“Mihawk! Do you always have to make a surprise entrance? You can just walk up and say hi, you know?” Kasumi teased.

He leapt to the ground and stood at her side. “I didn’t realize a match was occurring. I would have enjoyed the spectacle” —he glanced askew at Rayleigh— “if it were held under fair pretenses.”

She sheathed Fuchi and grabbed his elbow. “Of course it was fair! We were just playing around!”

Ray threw back his head. “She’s a great swordfighter! Just as I thought! Simmer down, kid. You two make a nice pair.”

Mihawk’s eyes swept over Kasumi’s body, checking for blood, mud, sweat, clothing wrinkles—anything that would indicate Ray had taken the fight too seriously. Finding none, he grasped her hands in his and asked in a whisper if she was alright.

_“Yes, of course I am! Everything’s fine, really!”_

“Old man, I’ll give you a real fight tomorrow. One to start the new year. Don’t burden Shikkearu. Her shoulder is injured.”

Kasumi laughed off the claim. “I’m fine, Mihawk, really.” She pecked at his lips as his hands slid down her back.

“She’s a solid fighter,” Ray announced, “like I said.” He turned and gave a coy smile over his shoulder. “You can’t expect me to come here and not try to find out.”

Mihawk flew ahead of him, wearing—for the first time and despite the warmer weather—the scarf Kasumi had made for him what seemed like so long ago. It trailed behind him on a wisp of air, waving as gently as a blade of grass.

“This is my, ah, _our_ island,” he growled, “and there was no invitation to you at all.”

Ray took his son’s attitude in stride. “Your mother insisted I come. And Sumi’s fine! She told you so herself! We were just having fun.”

She shielded her eyes from a beam of sunlight that caught his glasses. What followed was no less unwelcome: “So your family knows their opponents' minds? I heard you can also fight so hard that fire or iron won’t harm you, eh?”

“I don’t know where you heard that,” she said.

Ray’s eyebrows raised in innocent curiosity. “I thought your family were, ah, also a kind of Berserkers.”

Kasumi huffed and turned. “Berserkers? Well, maybe I guess some people might—”

“She’s not going to put on a show for you, old man,” Mihawk interrupted.

Frustrated with Ray’s prying and Mihawk’s protectiveness, she shot cold steel into the Dark King’s eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself when I need to.”

“That’s good!” Ray crowed, “The two of you ought to have some great spars!”

“Indeed we do,” his son replied, “She cut me, by the way. First real cut I’ve had in ages.”

Ray nearly coughed on his laughter. “GOOD! You probably deserved it!”

An unwanted “kukuku” escaped Mihawk’s throat. As disagreeable as the old man was, he had a knack for succinctness that made him sound wise and insightful, though Mihawk doubted his competence at both traits. More than anything, it was his father’s unpredictable critiques and praise over the years that had caused him to take everything the man said with a grain of salt. One moment, he might call his son the finest young swordfighter in the world, and the next tell him that he’s sloppy and overconfident.

Verbal arguments and swordfights were how the two communicated best, something they’d discovered when he left Shakky’s arms to join his father on Roger’s ship. Once their heads had butted often and hard enough to madden the entire crew, Rayleigh passed his son onto Eddie, a sensei that specialized in “problem children,” and Mihawk finally found the objective, unconditional acceptance he’d longed for as a student. Every teacher after that had felt like merely a shadow of the kind old man.

He’d grown up just fine without his father, and there was no need to pander to him now.

“All fighters who get cut deserve the wound. Some need to be shown their place.”

Kasumi hopped between them, assuming a role she’d tried only a few times in her life. “How about we all warm up with some lunch and just relax a minute?”

The men nodded at her, and she grabbed Mihawk’s elbow to tell him, _“Settle down. It’s okay.”_ Was she a peacemaker now? The words felt so foreign to her, as if she’d never heard them come out of her in that order before.

His bicep tightened around her fingers.

_“Let’s just go inside.”_

His muscles softened slightly. “Of course, dear. A hot meal makes a fine diplomat.”

The lunch that followed was warm and filling, but the conversation sparse. Clicks and tings of spoons and the creaking of chairs echoed though the kitchen with what seemed like absurd detachment from the relationships at hand.

Kasumi clenched her teeth and looked at Mihawk. _“Do you want to talk to him alone? I’ll stay if you want, but I was thinking of a nap, and—”_

“Rabbit, you must be exhausted! Two spars, a walk, a meal… do you feel…”

She smiled a bit too much. “Yes, yes, you guys talk. I was thinking about shower and a nap, if you promise to be nice!”

“Of course,” they said with differing amounts of enthusiasm.

“Queen’s orders!” she reminded them as she turned down the hallway. These two were too much of a hassle to babysit, and if they hadn’t killed each other by now, they were unlikely to do so before tonight’s holiday. Two grown men, top of their class, feared among pirates, and they couldn’t even eat a meal together without acting like brats!

Ray rinsed his bowl at the sink, contemplating how best to soften the mood between them. “Like I said, your mom asked me to come. She’s doing well, by the way. Working on a new dish! Spicy mushroom kind of thing. Uh, she told me to see how you two were doing.”

“Mm.”

“Kasumi’s a good fighter. A good fit for you.”

“Mm. And you came to satisfy your curiosity about her. To see if she was truly as you’d heard.” Mihawk glared across the kitchen at his father, still seething over how he’d sparred with Kasumi without him present.

Ray opened and closed cabinets along the wall. “Don’t you have any tea in this house?”

“Of course I do. Would you prefer it funneled boiling down your throat or scalding upon your face?”

“In a teacup would be fine,” Ray sighed as he sat at the table. “Has she ever, you know, gone haywire on you?”

His son slammed the kettle onto the stove. “Of course not.”

“But she _can_ predict her opponent’s moves?”

“Of course not. She’s horrible at that.”

“But that’s what those people do, right? They read their opponent’s mind and go apeshit on them.”

Mihawk lit the burner and sneered, “No, she’s about as dangerous as an angry bear. Fearsome, but easily disarmed once you know her tricks. She needs me to help her.” He stepped toward Ray and let loose a wave of haki. “You, in your ignorance, came to test her. I know what you want. You’re a nosy bastard who came to mock her and toy with her.”

Ray’s face dropped. “Do you think so little of me?”

“What reason have you given me to think otherwise?”

“Dammit, Mihawk! Don’t push that killing intent at me! Can’t you ever just let things go? Why do you always have to read so much into everything? Why can’t you just let your dad come visit and meet your girlfriend?”

“Because you demanded her respect without offering yours to her. Because you presumed to know her. Because you cast her as an other.”

Ray stared at the wall and fumed. His son was right. Even as a child, Mihawk had the ability to cut more than just objects; he could cut words, slice right to the heart of what was at issue, though his interpretation sometimes danced around the edge of coherence.

“Then I’m sorry, kid. Sorry I badgered her. That’s not why I came.”

“Apologize to her, not me.”

“I will.” Ray’s patience was running thin. “Listen, I didn’t come to poke my nose around. I just came to visit and all I wanted to tell you is that I think that if you’re going to be involved with a skilled young _princess,_ you should both commit to each other’s goals. So you don’t end up like your mom and grandma.”

A pair of crimson eyes rose to meet Ray’s.

“What about my grandmother?”

“Christ, I forgot you didn’t know.”

“Know what?”

Ray smoothed his ponytail; it was going to be tough to explain to Shakky that he’d let the cat out of the bag. But the kid already distrusted him—what good did it do to keep secrets now?

Small ripples of anxiety pricked at his face until he spouted out the truth: “Your grandma Gloriosa was, at one time, ah, the Empress of Amazon Lily.”

Mihawk’s expression softened as his posture straightened.

“She was at sea when she met your grandfather.”

The world’s strongest swordfighter nearly jumped at the screeching kettle. “Empress…” he mused as he filled two cups.

“Yes. And she gave it all away to chase her true love. Of course, you know what happened to him.” Ray sniffed at his tea. “And, I guess your mom and grandma always felt a bit hesitant to tell you since you took it so hard when your mom told you she retired when you were born.”

“So I was deceived,” Mihawk stated plainly.

“Granny wanted to leave the past behind,” Ray offered, “and Shakky thought it would be better that way as well. You’re too sensitive about these kinds of things, so they figured it was just easier not to tell you.”

Mihawk glared at his father. “I don’t enjoy hearing that both my mother and grandmother hung up their dreams for the sake of a man who didn’t return the favor, no.”

Rayleigh rolled his eyes and sighed, “I thought you’d say something like that. Look, it might be better that you hear it now, now that you’re with Kasumi and all.”

“What else have you kept from me?”

“Nothing. This was just something your mom and grandma decided on. After you blew a gasket when she told you she’d retired to raise you, she didn’t want to tell you about your grandma, and I always knew you’d be an asshole if you found out you’d been lied to.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Mihawk swallowed the entire cup of tea with a grunt. “What does this have to do with Shikkearu?”

“Just, ah, you can call your mom later and talk to her, but, you know, consider each other. Each other’s futures.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Ray’s patience was gasping for air, and a soft but insistent haki sound spread through the kitchen. “Look, kid, both of them found happiness even though it wasn’t what they expected. All right? And you should be happy too. But be considerate of each other’s hopes and dreams.”

Eyeing his son’s clenched fists, he added, “I’m trying my best, kid. I want this to work for you. So does your mom. That’s all. Fuck! It’s like a goddamn Buster Call every time I have to tell you something you don’t like!” He set his glasses on the table and rubbed at his temples.

Mihawk stood and seethed, rolling over a variety of potential acerbities to let loose. A pair of garnets gradually lifted from their fixation on the floor. “Is she afraid to tell me things like this?”

“No one wants to pull a dragon’s tail,” Rayleigh said into his cup.

“So you think of me as a strange creature.”

Ray sprang up and grabbed his son by the biceps. “No, dammit! No one thinks you’re a monster! You’re our son and we love you! You’re the top swordfighter in the world, a smart kid, a damn respectable Shichibukai, and we’re both really happy that you’re in love with a sweet person like Kasumi. We’re proud of you!” His grip softened as he added, “But you can be a bit of an… _emotional_ dragon.”

Mihawk stiffened. “Then I should improve that aspect of myself.” His eyes burned into Rayleigh’s. “Oyaji, it’s good that you told me. But Shikkearu won’t suffer such a fate. Both of us will see our dreams achieved without sacrifice. I will ensure she never has to forsake her goals. I…” He paused and chewed his bottom lip. “We’re meant to be.”

Ray heaved a sigh of relief and smiled. “It’s good to see you happy. And if you want my opinion—which I know you don’t—I was against keeping this from you in the first place. There’s no shame in what your mom and grandma did. And if anyone can hold the title while juggling a relationship, it’s you. You never do anything half-assed.”

Mihawk wasn’t sure if that was a compliment, but decided to let it be. “Tonight is the last night of the year,” he noted.

“Right,” Ray laughed, “so let’s make the best of it! Bring out your booze and I’ll help with dinner in a while. Let’s put this behind us and have some fun! Uh, call your mom tonight or tomorrow, just so she knows you and I haven’t killed each other.”

Mihawk nodded and forced an awkward smile. Once Ray had gone upstairs, he crept to the parlor to see if the rabbit was still asleep.

“Hey,” she blinked, “your boots are too loud.”

He tossed himself onto the chaise next to her and buried his head in her shoulder. “That old man infuriates me.”

Kasumi didn’t know what to say, so she stroked his back and smoothed her hands over his hair.

“He always has.”

“I’m sorry, Mihawk.”

His head snapped back, his face struck with alarm. “Oh. Shikkearu. You must think I’m a boor.”

“For what?”

His forehead creased over a pair of troubled red eyes. “I lie here and complain about my parent when you…”

She shook her head as she yawned. “It’s alright. I’m sure I’d complain about mine too! I wonder what they’d think of me now, mm-hm-hm!”

“They’d think you’re as wonderful as I do, I’m sure,” he smiled. His spirit somewhat bolstered, he explained to her what Ray had told him, concluding with a bit of self-pity about how everyone was afraid of him.  

"They’re not _afraid_ of you; they’re afraid of hurting your feelings because they don’t know if you’ll hear them out when they tell you something difficult. You know, for such a stoic guy, you can be a little… dramatic sometimes.”

“They’re worried that you’ll give up your dream and just settle for being my wife.”

“Um… Mihawk, don’t you think they might be telling you that your grandma and mom both followed this pattern because they think **you** might be the one to give up your dream? They’re worried about **you**.”

His eyes widened.

“And another thing! It seems to me like your mom and grandma both ended up perfectly happy, so it’s kind of insulting to interpret their stories as ‘giving up’ on anything at all! You know, stories like that just perpetuate the idea that no matter what a woman does, she’s not doing the right thing, and that men are the ultimate arbiter of whether a woman has ‘succeeded’ or not. Your parents are just old-fashioned. No wonder you worried so much about it when we first got together.”

“You think they’re concerned that I’ll give up my title to become Prince of Kuraigana?” he smirked.

“Or that I’ll become a mild-mannered housewife?”

His smirk became a genuine grin and he lifted his head to give her several quick kisses. “It all sounds ridiculous when you say it that way.”

“Because it IS ridiculous, Miho! Just don’t worry about it and let’s have a good night tonight. He’ll be gone soon and we can get back to” —she pressed her palm flat against his chest— “our normal schedule of activities.”

He sat up and adjusted his shirt. “I don’t have any New Year’s food prepared.”

“Hm, well, I can help you. We can put something together! And we’ll drink that old man under the table until he shuts his mouth, mm-hm-hm!”

The duo set to work in the kitchen, joined by Ray, who tried his best to make himself useful. Soon, they whipped together a meal of New Year’s _soba_ noodles, oysters, pickled turnips and radishes, and a selection of fruit from Water Seven. Mihawk set the table as if he were expecting royalty to walk through the door.

A sense of cooperation overtook their usual competitiveness, and a lighthearted and cheerful dinner started off a New Year’s Eve filled with boasts, anecdotes, and playful jests.

It wasn’t long until Kasumi’s face ached from smiling. Was this what the nights had been like in Henri’s house, when wine flowed freely and card games turned into belly-laughs? She’d never had this kind of fun on the streets or in the barn, and she’d certainly never felt this free and giddy in front of someone her parents’ age! Mihawk was so lucky to have grown up in pirate bars and with famous swordfighters! There was no telling how many nights he’d spent three sheets to the wind with Ray!  

Meanwhile, the dreaded Shichibukai Hawk-eye Mihawk was letting his guard down in front of his father for the first time in years, hesitantly smiling and laughing more and more as the night charged on. Kasumi sat beside him on the sofa, twisting locks of his hair around her finger and leaning into him whenever she laughed. The night was perfect; he even heard the old man apologize to her for being “presumptuous and nosy” when she went on the landing to smoke.

He opened a bottle of champagne at midnight, followed by several bottles of Cabernet from the reserve shelf of the cellar. The old man seemed to be trying his best to keep the mood light and cheery, and—not to be outdone—Mihawk attempted to match his good nature.

Kasumi had excused herself to the bathroom, and once she was out of earshot Mihawk told his father that before she’d arrived, he’d been able to forgo such formalities and just visit the balcony whenever nature called.

Ray bellowed with laughter and clamped his hand onto his son’s shoulder. “Listen, what I told you last night, about what I heard about them… I mean, I don’t know if it’s true.”

“She’s never mentioned such a thing. If she knows it to be fact, she’ll tell me. And I may tell her what you heard. But not tonight. Tonight is off to a good start. For all of us.” His hand wobbled slightly as he poured another. “Oyaji, she’s perfect. No matter her past. No matter her future.”

“I agree, kid. Just let it go. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. You kids are cute as two peas in a pod. I see now why Shakky said she was so good for you!”

“I’m going to ask her someday,” he mumbled, “We’re going to be married. A real marriage.”

Allowing the insult to pass, Ray smiled. “That sounds nice. I want you to be happy. If you two ever need anything, just—”

Kasumi clamored into the room with a couple of paring knives and a bowl of fruit from the kitchen. “Alright, master swordsmen, it’s snack time! Show me something I haven’t seen before!”

With a whirlwind of peels and pieces, the knives flew over the bowl nearly as soon as she’d set it down.

Rayleigh beamed up at her, holding in his palm a melon teddy bear, complete with bow tie and balloon. Mihawk laid his offering at on the table and stared at the floor. It was a melon shaped into a girl in a tiny boat reinforced with discarded melon rinds that perfectly resembled wood grain. The girl gazed skyward with sparkling eyes as her hands grasped two oars and pulled against the waves.

“Oh, wow…” she marveled drunkenly, “look at— and it has a little bow tie? But this one…”

“The oars function,” Mihawk informed her.

She tested the oars and declared him the winner while Rayleigh laughed and chomped into the bear’s balloon.

“You know, Shikkearu,” Mihawk said, now that his confidence was brimming, “You’re one of just a handful of people in the world to have faced off with two consecutive title-holders.” He popped an orange section into his mouth. “And you’re asking us to cut fruit.”

Her finger poked him in the ribs. “Are you saying I’m ungrateful? Overadvantaged? Unworthy? I just didn’t want to cut it myself because you couldn’t handle my greatness! I might carve something that would blow your mind and you’d have to give up the sword forever!” She snickered and lay on the sofa with her head in his lap. The rest of the night was a blur of dizzying laughter; Kasumi awoke on the couch as the sun was rising with Mihawk mumbling in her ear.

“Rabbit. Let’s sleep upstairs in the bed. I think the old man already went that way after we nodded off.”

They awoke late, groggy and disheveled, and gradually met up in the kitchen, where eggs and tea were consumed in silence. Ray announced that he’d like to have a spar with Mihawk before he left, and although she was curious to see how it would unfold, she wanted to give them some space to engage each other in their natural habitat.

She headed upstairs to work on her sculpture while the swordsmen met at the training grounds. Mihawk wasted no time in demonstrating his power, launching into a cyclone of blows that nearly caught Ray off guard.

“You’re slow,” he informed him.

 _“Iya,_ you just jumped the gun on me. Let me show you what a real fight feels like.” Ray leapt above the trees, nearly as high as the curls of hills that loomed over the swamp, then plunged downward with a furious shock of haki that sent his blade crashing into Yoru.

Mihawk stood firm, his boots barely budging from their prints in the mud as he blocked his father with a slight turn of his wrist. “Old dog, old tricks,” he chided.

Yoru swept low along the ground, sparking a green slash that churned through the mud, spitting up swamp mire as it curved along and doubled back to catch Ray from behind.

His glasses flashed as Ray lit up with a dark grin. “Showing off, as usual. Why don’t you save your gimmicks for Sumi-chan? You promised me a real fight.”

Mihawk pushed haki from deep within his belly and into an even, horizontal strike that sent his opponent scrambling high into the sky to dodge his blow. If it was raw power the old man wanted to see, then he’d be sure he got his fill.

The strike crashed into a group of trees and severed them without a sound, clearing the forest like a scythe until it reached the open ocean and continued as far as he could see.

A burst of haki from Ray’s outstretched hand stopped the falling trees and guided them to the edges of the arena. “She’s gonna be pissed you cut those down.”

“It’s only a matter of time until she’s able to do the same. She’s read nearly every book in the castle.”

Ray brought the fight closer, lunging toward his son and settling into a pattern that tested the speed of both men as sparks flashed and flew over the trees.

“Kid, I just wonder if you’ve put enough thought into what goes along with being someone’s teacher and boyfriend at the same time.”

Yoru hissed and snapped at Rayleigh’s blade, seeming to come from all sides at once. Ray bore down and parried the strikes before catching the black sword overhead with a grunt.

“Christ, kid, it’s just some advice. Find a good balance. Just be aware of it.”

Mihawk snarled and tasted sweat at the corner of his mouth. “I have already considered this. I love her. She loves me. I’m going to help her improve.”

“Yeah, but I know you. I know how you can get.” He pressed his blade against the strongest in the world, grinding it there while a white blaze ignited between the steel.

Mihawk’s jaw tightened and his frown nearly became a pout.

His father continued, “It takes a lot of trust to leave the person you love up to their own abilities.”

“Cowardice is more like it.” Mihawk swung his blade so hard that a wave of electricity shot through Ray’s arms and collarbones. “If my presence can ensure her survival, I’ll follow her over the globe. She’s precious to me. I treasure her. Unlike others, who turn their loved ones to the winds.”

Ray flitted back at his son with a graceful series of lunges that caught Mihawk off guard. Was he imitating Kasumi’s style? “Kid, when you love someone, you need to trust them to make decisions without you. God knows I did.”

“Exactly. You left my mother alone on Sabao—”

“No, you little asshole. I mean you. Best day of my life was when I decided to let you make your own mistakes. But now, you have Kasumi here, and you just need to let her see the world for herself some. She lived in a barn for Chrissakes. Now you’re gonna keep her on this island and supervise her fights? I’ve seen prisoners with more freedom!”

Mihawk’s jaw unclenched. “But she might be hurt. She might be killed!”

“Yes, you just have to believe in them with all your heart.”

“Not my rabbit. She’ll be safe. With me. I’ll keep her s—”

Ray’s eyes met his son’s as their swords dropped to _en garde._ “Just, just try to think about it. She may not ever be as good as you, but you can’t keep her as a student forever. Not if you really love her. Not if you want her to love you. She got away from you at Water Seven didn’t she? I could tell you would have never allowed it.”

“I just. She doesn’t understand how strong the world can be. I want her to stay by my side and learn.”

Ray slashed twice at Mihawk’s side. “And when will you trust her?”

Mihawk’s eyes grew much darker, glistening with an almost mahogany tint. “I won’t deny her dream. I won’t suffer the guilt you have.”

“Good. Now give me a second. Your old man needs a break. Damn, you’re quick. And strong.”

At sundown, the pair arrived at the castle, steeped in mud and muck, wearing easy, exhausted smiles and seeming to have reached a new détente.

Ray washed up and headed out into the night with the confidence of a pirate who had sailed to the end of the world and survived. The pair stood at the dock and watched his boat grow fainter and fainter into the distance until darkness swallowed the sea.

“Hime-kun, my deepest apologies for that crude old man. And my sincere gratitude for your tolerance of his visit.”

She took his hand and walked back up the hill to the castle. “Really, Mihawk, it’s okay. I know that was hard for you, but you really shouldn’t worry about what I think of him. I mean, it’s not like my dad was a saint either. Or either of my parents, for that matter…”

“I dislike him thinking he can stop by and interrupt our life. I dislike his pompous attitude. I dislike his shoes,” he mumbled.  

It was late, and they had a lazy dinner and then slunk into the bath together. She pressed her palms into his back and began to rub out his weary muscles.

“Are you tired?”

Mihawk didn’t reply.

“You had a good fight then? I’m glad you have someone who can challenge you. I saw some of it, by the way.”

“Mm?”

“The big orange shot. And the green one that shattered it. I guess that was yours?”

“Indeed.”

“It, ah, rattled the castle,” she said as she made her way to his neck.

He nodded and then furrowed his brow. “Did it frighten you? It wasn’t my intention to—”

She shook her head. “No. Not frightened. Just, uh, you guys are really strong…”

“Hm.”

“How many people like you guys are out there?”

“Swordfighters? None. But the seas are rife with those who would scatter you before you could draw your weapon.”

“Well,” she said “it’s a long time until I get there. And I might not. But, just… I talk a big talk, you know? And I want to get strong. Just… I’ve got a long way to go, I think. I might not be able to be as strong as you. After seeing you two, going out on my own sounds kind of… challenging.”

“Bah, it’s been on my mind as well. If you must set sail to test yourself, then I’ll gallantly step aside and excuse myself from your field of vision. But please, allow me to help judge your state of readiness. Don’t,” he said, “leave me without warning?”

_“I can do that.”_

The water sloshed as he turned to face her with his hands on her shoulders. “Rabbit, dear, my father told me of a rumor he heard long ago. About your family…”

“Mm-hm-hm, I’ve heard all kinds of things. What is it now?”

He breathed in deeply, but failed to say anything. He pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth and tried again. “That a once-peaceful family of telepathics were… modified to become clairvoyant fighters in hopes of creating an undefeatable force. But the experiment was… not entirely successful.”

“Oh. I’ve never heard that one before,” she said softly.

“Darling, of course it’s just idle talk. And none of it matters at all in the long run! You and I have each other, and your family name is certainly quite honorable! No string of history or of future can affect the way that you and I feel about each other, and from the stars to the core of the world, there’s no greater—”

“I thought you were going to say something like we’re witches or Berserkers or enchanters or something. Not that we’re… failed science projects.”

“Apologies, rabbit, I’m sure there’s no truth to it. I felt I should tell you just as I feel we should share all things… and to commiserate about my blathering father.”  

“Mm-hm-hm! You two are really something else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come visit me on tumblr!](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/184194008446/p2-ch-4)


	5. Le Petit Prince

The year was 1496. Hawk-eye was, once again, aboard Roger’s ship, Ray having withdrawn him from the Alubarna Center for the Study of Horsemanship and Swordfighting after the situation with Rashida. Once departed from Alabasta, they visited a slew of places Mihawk found uninteresting, fought Whitebeard’s crew what seemed like every other week, eventually recruited Oden and his dog and cat retainers, and even saw a city in the sky. None of it excited him.

He spent his 16th birthday alone while Roger’s crew went off to tackle their latest enemy… or mystery… or obstacle—whatever it was, Mihawk didn’t care. He was always left in charge of guarding the ship, which so far had only entailed throwing fishing weights at birds and staring down curious children. He spent his mornings and afternoons in training, his evenings in study, and his nights with a dozen or so select novels and books of poetry that held his interest.

Every few days, Ray would pit him against some random local “master swordsman," and every time, Mihawk would pin them at the point of his blade within moments. Early on, he’d assumed the old man was making money off him, boasting of his son’s skills and pulling in wagers when he won. But it soon became apparent that Rayleigh simply delighted in watching his boy fight, and he’d throw his head back and crow every time Mihawk brought another to their knees.

The two other boys on the ship, both barely 12 years old, frankly repulsed him: one, a wide-eyed little kiss-ass, and the other a frantic braggart who whined and cried every time his incompetency was exposed. Mihawk was satisfied to just have a few hours a day to himself when the boat was empty. The freedom of being at sea, along with the promise of refuge from the suffocating presence of others, was enough to make him content, if not exactly happy.

Mihawk sailed with the crew through Paradise, fighting when asked but otherwise simply following his training routine. Rayleigh reminded him and the others—quite often—that he was on board as a guest, just a teenager who needed a place to train until he could claim his father’s title. But, aside from training, most of his time with the sword felt more like chores than anything else, cleaving some navigational impediment or adversary the twe1ve-year-olds could probably best. Rayleigh's whims were irritating and Mihawk began longing for a true challenge or, failing that, a simple respite from the pirate life he found increasing boorish.

Eventually the ship reached Water Seven, only a few days’ travel away from Sabaody. Roger had been talked into having a new ship built before crossing into the New World, and the crew bubbled with excitement and anticipation for the next stage of their journey.

Rayleigh caught his son one day after practice and curled his finger under the boy’s chin. “Kid, we’re gonna be here for a while. Why don’t you run home to your mom’s on a passenger ship? She’d be happy as a clam to see you, and God knows we could use a break from each other!”

Ray put his son aboard the _Grand Line Transport Queen_ with 5000 beri and the entirety of his sword skills, having promised to retrieve him once the ship was finished. Mihawk savored the voyage, treating himself to at least three different glasses of wine a night. The break in training allowed him to dive deeper in his books than he’d grown accustomed amidst the din of Roger’s ship and Mihawk felt as light and free as a wisp in a breeze.

The boat docked at Sabaody, and he left what he assumed was a reasonable tip on his night-table. The route to the Rip-off Bar felt familiar and warm, and it seemed as if he dreamed all the way to Grove 13. By the time he’d crested the hill, he had a perfect greeting prepared for his mother.  

The sign on the front said “ _Closed. Please call again when sign is lit._ ” She must be taking a nap. He went around to the back door and barged inside.

In a dim corner booth, Shakky sat atop the lap of an unfamiliar man, wearing just a bra and a skirt. The man’s hands were wrapped around her waist.

Mihawk froze momentarily before stomping upstairs to his bedroom, hesitating upon reaching the doorway to a room frozen in perpetual childhood. A sinister “Oooooo” sound gradually grew before exploding in a blast of haki that sent his dresser shooting across the room, scattering its contents across the floor. Once neatly-folded white button-ups lay strewn about, shirts no longer large enough to contain the man looming over them.

The bokken he cherished in childhood lay beckoning at the foot of the bed. Mihawk brought it crashing down upon the bedpost, splitting its floral scrolls as easily as a dried twig. Unsatisfied, he turned his rage to his desk, the bookcase, the curtains and in few seconds of blind fury, the room was reduced to shambles. 

Nothing could begin to quell the anger that was still welling inside; nothing could discharge this emotion, this insult, this _mockery!_ He turned to leave, hoping to find satisfaction elsewhere or perhaps flee the emotion altogether, only to hear Shakky’s approaching footsteps echoing up the staircase. Perhaps the window could afford egress?

Broken pieces of a model ship lay in flotsam on the nightstand, beside a framed photo of Mihawk, five years old, laughing atop Ray’s shoulders with a stick of _dango_ in one fist and his bokken in the other. Shakky held Ray’s hand and looked up at her son with such joy, such pride, such tenderness!

Bah! He threw himself face first onto the bed and squeezed a pillow around the back of his head. Why had he come here?

Shakky’s lover had fled the restaurant as soon as the first wave of Mihawk’s aura hit him. He tumbled half-naked down the cascade of steps in front of the bar and scrambled as quickly as he could out of Grove 13. Chicks with kids were fine; hell, he liked kids! Chicks with _demonic_ kids? Not happening.

Shakky knocked gently at the frame of the open door. “Mi-chan?”

He grunted.

“Sweetheart?” she asked as she tiptoed through the clutter, “I’m sorry.”

“How could you?!”

Shakky sat on the upturned dresser beside the bed. “It’s always been this way. Your dad and I aren’t like other people. We have an agreement.”

“Foh! He told me the same thing! But why do I have to know? Why can’t you just be normal married people? Why can’t you wait on each other?”

“Darling, we’re pirates. We’ve never done things the normal way. This is what works for us. Our hearts still belong to each other.” She straightened her bangs with her fingers and mused, “I didn’t know you were coming home. I guess I wasn’t listening.”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“Well, it shouldn’t concern you,” she said.

“Then don’t do it in front of me!”

Shakky’s eyes watered over. “I didn’t mean to! And your dad said he wouldn’t either!”

“You two are disgusting. Why don’t you get a divorce?”

Tears poured from her now. “Mihawk, that’s not fair. We love each other. We’re married.”

“Then **QUIT** **FUCKING** **STRANGERS**!” His blackened fist pierced through the headboard, leaving behind a smoldering hole.

 _Control yourself, Hawk-eye._ It had been all he’d heard for the past three years. The boarding school in Alabasta was a place where children weren’t allowed to show too much emotion, lest their focus wane. No, swallow it down; save it for training; hoard it in an emotional bank to be called upon later. But when it came out, it came out too fiercely, in stormbursts that seemed to surprise even Rayleigh, though he knew good and well the boy’s temper was his own.

“I’m going out.”

“Mi-chan…”

“I can’t swallow this feeling.”

\----

After a call to lay into Ray for not even giving her a heads up that their son was coming home, she finished closing the bar and slumped into a booth. A few nights passed, and Shakky put out feelers for any information about a teenage boy with red eyes. She had no leads at all until one morning, when a headline in the Sabaody Bubbler caught her attention.

 

>  Mystery Swordfighter Said to Rampage in Lawless Zone
> 
> Reliable sources in Grove 16 tell _The Bubbler_ that a “madman” has destroyed at least four nightlife establishments and could be responsible for up to 250 deaths over the past three nights.
> 
> “As soon as he walked in, I knew something bad was going to happen,” said Cora Turtlebeak, a patron of the Last Chance Bar and one of the only witnesses to survive. “The aura coming off him was downright evil. I dropped my glass and headed out the back door as soon as I saw those glowing red eyes.” Turtlebeak, a recruiter for the Society for Living Amicably in Voluntary Employment of Sabaody, (S.L.A.V.E.S.), reported that the man stood around six feet tall and wore a black coat with no undershirt. “He was a monster! I’ve never seen such carnage happen so fast! When I went back later, the whole bar was a pile of timber and meat! Just a normal-sized guy with a black sword and a nasty frown. Some kind of demon, if you ask me.”
> 
> A similar story seems to have played out at several other taverns Monday and Tuesday night in Groves 15 and 16. A Marine spokesman declined to comment on the incidents, citing a long-standing policy of non-intervention in Groves 1-29.

A teardrop fell onto Shakky’s newspaper, followed by another, and then the cascade burst from her eyes. Her baby boy! What was he doing?! Out there alone, chopping slave traders to bits! Not that they didn’t deserve it (and she certainly took pride in raising him as an abolitionist), but he was much too young to be making his reputation as a monster. A demon!? He was still just a child! A scared and frustrated boy! And where was he sleeping? What was he eating? Of course he’d have no problem surviving on his own, but his obvious distress tore at her heart! If only she could speak with him for a few minutes!

Daylight blinded her when Gloriosa opened the door to the bar. “What’s wrong-nyo? I came to ask if you wanted to go to the _takoyaki_ festival.”

Shakky ran her hands through her bangs and they fell neatly back into place. “Mihawk came home. There was a guy here. He… didn’t take it well.”

\----

That night, Mihawk leaned against a bush on Grove 16, in the heart of the Lawless Zone, and picked at a spot of blood on his shirt. The slave traders were all mouth and guns, not a worthy fighter among them! Perhaps tomorrow he could venture a little farther and find some swordfighters approaching his level in the more reputable pirate bars. Tonight, however, he’d sleep under the stars in the humid Sabaody air.

When the bubbles popped over the archipelago, each resin blister released a sharp, clean, mildly-acrid scent that wafted over the moist air and filtered its way into the flavor of Sabaody. It was clean here—fresh, spicy, and stinging like a mouthful of ginger. It was home.

Mihawk drew a breath and swallowed deep into his chest, his eyes closing as a wave of fatigue and guilt washed over. He’d made his mother cry; he’d destroyed his room; the model boat he’d painted with her lay in splinters. What a fool he was to think she might be expecting to see him at any minute!

Shame shuddered through his ribs. Swallow it! Stuff it away! There was nothing to be done about it now! He was a trueborn killer! A pirate! Next in line to the title currently held by a self-righteous buffoon!

A finger tugged at his temple to remove an offending speck of water from his eye. How shameful, to cry! To admit emotion! And to cry in regret that one has already lost control of their emotions was the greatest shame.

And then they’d begin again, the whispers: “That boy’s a monster!” “A murderer!” “A devil!” Murmurings so close he could feel the warmth of their revulsion.

He kicked his heel into the dirt in disgust. Why couldn’t people just act as he wished them to?

Why couldn’t _he_ just act as _they_ wished him to?

_Shisst._

His hand clamped dutifully onto the hilt of his ornate blade, a blackened longsword with delicate scrollwork running its length.

_Thud, shuffle, thud._

His thumb popped the sword from its sheath.

“Hey there-nyo.”

Gloriosa’s tunic whisked over the grass as she lowered herself to a squat and then collapsed to the ground. “I’ve been walking all day. I need a place to rest. Mind if I sit by you?”

Mihawk stared at her feet. “You didn’t need to come looking for me.”

“Who says I was looking for you-nyo? I’m just an old lady taking a walk.”

He tilted his head back into the bush and sighed.

He was much bigger than she remembered, though still slight for his age. Not an ounce of fat on him, long and lanky, full of taut, twitchy muscles that flickered as she leaned her head onto his arm. In many ways, his differences were just as she expected they’d be.

“Mikkun. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Look at you! With your ponytail and your scrawny legs-nyo! I’ve missed you, boy! Your mother’s missed you, too.”

They sat a while and watched the bubbles reflect in the moonlight. Each one—big or small, thick or thin—echoing an audible report once it reached the thinnest layer of the Sabaody atmosphere. Each was destined to pop, eventually.

 _“Obaa-chan,”_ he finally mustered, “why do they do that? My parents?”

Gloriosa huffed out a sigh. “They’re happy that way.”

“They took a vow!”

“Well,” she said with a reassuring smile, “they don’t consider it cheating, dear. It’s what works for them-nyo. They’re safe about it, and it’s not that strange considering how much time they spend apart.”

“I don’t like it.”

She leaned back into the bush and stretched her hips. “We can’t decide what the people we love can and can’t do. People-nyo make their own choices. Sometimes we just have to find peace with that. We can’t control those we love.”

Mihawk twisted his heel inside his boot and let her words fall flat into the grass.

A moonbeam lit up his eye, and all at once Gloriosa saw him as the little boy who used to bring her flowers stolen from the landscaping at Sabaody Park—so eager to please, so easy to love. Underneath that obsidian shell lay a delicate little dreamer!   

“She’s been worried sick about you.”

“She has no need to fret for me.”

Gloriosa grasped his hand and rubbed it with weary, arthritic fingers. “She’s not worried about your safety-nyo. She’s worried about your heart.”

She found a rhythm in the meat of his palm and worked at the sinews and calluses there. He was still just a child! Tough, but gentle; rude, but thoughtful; a naïve virtuoso. A starry-eyed tyrant.

“We’re all so proud of you, Mikkun. So happy to see you’ve grown so strong and determined. Whatever you put your mind to, you make it happen.”

“I have no plan. I’m only doing what seems right for me.”

“We all are, dear,” she smiled, “That’s life.”

Mihawk held his breath for a moment and imagined what his life might have been if he’d never left Sabaody. Was the training so far from home worth it? What if he’d never taken up the sword at all?

A squeak came out of him, barely audible in the night: “Granny?”

“Mm?”

“...It’s good that you came to sit with me.”

She gave his hand a firm squeeze and smiled. “I think so, too. Now I’m tired. I need to see if these old legs-nyo will get me back to your mom’s place.”

Mihawk snapped upright. “I’ll carry you, obaa-chan. How shall I carry you best?”

“Carry me on your back,” she laughed with arms extended, “I want to know what it feels like to be tall-nyo!”

The odd pair worked their way back to Grove 13 in the moonlight. Mihawk’s steps were light and smooth, each footfall aimed at making the woman as comfortable as possible. She hummed softly atop her steed, both to reassure the boy that conversation wasn’t required and to savor the chance to sing him that old song once more.

 _With your sword at your side,_  
_And the winds at your back,_  
_You’ll never need to fear,_  
_Charge on, charge on._

By the time they reached the Rip-off Bar, the Kuja battle song was turning ‘round and ‘round in his head, where it would stay for months. He ducked down to pull open the door and was surprised—again—by Shakky’s presence.

Through a haze of smoke, she stood at the bar with her hand at her temple. She looked up from wrapping the latest dish she’d cooked for her boy, destined to join the rest in the fridge, each organized and ready to reheat the moment he appeared.

“Mi-chan!” she grinned, but Gloriosa waved her away while Mihawk dropped her off at the foot of the staircase.  

“Thank you, my boy! That was a fine ride,” she said as she kissed his cheek, “Now you go upstairs, get yourself cleaned up, and get a good night’s sleep. We’ll leave you alone-nyo! And if you want to talk in the morning, we can talk then.”

Mihawk pressed her hand to his cheek and gave a shaky nod toward his mother before ascending the stairs. Feeble though she was, there were times it seemed that his grandmother was the only one who understood him sincerely. Something about her contained the same spirit of idealistic rebellion. She knew. She knew how he needed to be alone. 

Shakky started toward the stairs, but was blocked by the short and stout former Empress. “Shakuyaku, he’s exhausted. Look at him. Let the boy relax a while. Let him settle in and wait until he’s ready. You know how he is.”

Shakky dropped her arm, embarrassed that her mother thought she needed instruction in dealing with her own son. Yet the need to speak to him burned like an itch. Hadn’t he had enough time to cool down?

Once her mother settled into the guest room, Shakky headed upstairs to rest soundly for the first time in several nights. Mihawk’s bedroom light was out; Gloriosa had already told her that he was exhausted. She really shouldn’t bother him. Still, to see her boy home in his bed once again! To see a body under those quilts that had lain undisturbed for nearly a decade!

She knocked gently on the door and cautiously cracked it open. Everything was back in its place: the bookshelf reorganized; the broken desk held upright by a heavy chest; the newly-cropped curtains straight and even; the dresser carefully ordered with the once-scuttled model ship atop it, now reinforced with wire and string.

“Mikkun?”

Painful silence, and then a grunt: “Hm?”

“I love you.”

“Hm. You too.”

The next morning, he came downstairs to find a full breakfast spread, including double helpings of natto rice. Shakky met him behind the bar and tousled his long hair as he dug through the refrigerator.

“Can I have a hug now? It’s been so long.”

He stood and gave her a half-smile. He was already several inches taller than her now, and she was just barely able to clasp her hands around his back.

“Darling, I’m sorry we had a rough start. Can we—”

“The apology,” he mumbled, “is mine to give. I… lost my composure.”

“I smell breakfast!” Gloriosa announced as she shuffled into the room still wearing her nightgown, “and if this boy hasn’t already eaten-nyo through the stockroom, I’d like to have some.”   

“ _Hai, hai,”_ Shakky laughed. She spun toward the stove, sunlight trailing along the hem of her skirt.

He was home. The Rip-off Bar hadn’t felt this full in years! It was all she could do not to sweep them both up in her arms and squeeze until they popped! In a few months, Ray would join them and it would be just like the old days! He said he wanted to study resin coating for the new ship; how long could that possibly take? At least a month more! To be together again as a family for a while.

Of course, they’d have to go their separate ways, as all pirates do. Ray had his destiny with Roger, and Mihawk with his sword, and she with running the most profitable gossip-bar at the end of Paradise; but their time together was all the more precious because it of it.

“Mikkun,” she smiled as she plated her mother’s meal, “you’re growing out of those shoes. Those pants too. How about we do some shopping?”

Mihawk looked up from his breakfast bowls with a puzzled expression. His clothes were fine! If he didn’t lace the boots and opened his waistband button, they functioned perfectly! Of course, he’d rid himself of dress shirts when they began to pinch his range of motion, but a suit jacket worked fine as a covering, and he could remove it as needed.

“And a haircut, too,” Shakky added.

Now his face drew into a perplexed grimace.

“If you want one.”

“I do not.”

Gloriosa pointed her spoon in his face. “Well, keep the hair, but you need to have some clothes that cover your ass and feet. You’re a swordfighter, not a vagabond.”

He looked down at the bar foot-rail and wiggled his big toe. A flash of skin greeted him, to his surprise. Perhaps he should pay more attention to these matters, lest he be confused for the same type of brutish pirate even Roger disdained.

Today, he was treated to all manner of clothes and shoes, and—at Shakky’s insistence—a hat.

“You’ll be surprised how much has changed downtown,” she told him, and (of course) she was right. What once was a dark alley was now a bistro; there were fountains in what used to be unkempt fields. His eyes flitted in search for his childhood dojo or favorite noodle shop, but no location seemed particularly familiar.

“Sabaody is really growing lately,” she said, “They say there’s more and more people trying to cross the Red Line – and you too!”

“I’d like to see the New World,” he admitted, “though the ship life is somewhat tedious.”

Gloriosa doubled over in laughter. “I said the same thing at your age! Fell in love with a pirate, and now look at me!”

“You look fine,” Mihawk informed her dryly.

The three had portraits taken in the park before watching the sunset through a bubble prism. Dracule Mihawk was home.

By the time Rayleigh arrived with Roger and the Oro Jackson, Mihawk had settled into a routine of training and working at the bar, sometimes offering an awkward wink to young women his age. Shakky observed him one night as he nervously recited poetry and held the hand of another teenager whose father was currently slumped over the bar, his pockets much lighter than they’d been when he’d arrived. She hadn’t heard what the girl had said, but Mihawk’s expression had fallen, and he stayed in the back of the kitchen for the rest of the night. After closing, he paused with the mop in hand.

“Hahaue, am I weird?”

“We’re all a little weird, sweetheart.”

“But I’m strange? Too strange?”

“No, of course not! You’re perfectly you.”

“Hmmm,” he mused, “This me is perfectly me. I shall keep it that way.”

Shakky’s heart melted with joy as she watched him walk upstairs. Sure, he may never be as smooth romantically as his father, but his heart was so pure, so true. He was an enigma of a child, a fascinating and glorious one! Someday, he’d be at the top of the world! And with a heart like that, nothing would ever stop him!

Roger’s crew kept the bar lively and in the black, and he worked her information sources bone dry while Ray perfected the Oro Jackson’s coating. Of course, Ray nearly worked her bone dry as well, and the tension of years spent apart culminated in a night at a soundproof bubble hotel while Gloriosa took Mihawk for the evening. Ray was just as she remembered him: solid and strong, stubborn and coy. No matter the number of days or miles that passed between each contact, their time together was always electric. Nothing else could ever approach the intense excitement each sparked in the other; any sense of distance evaporated at the first flash of a smile, the wink of an eye, or the infectious sound of a familiar laugh.

The day the Roger Pirates left Sabaody, Shakky saw them off at the pier, lace handkerchief in hand, and told her boys to find their dreams. “Go and make it happen,” she said as Gloriosa nodded, "I know you can.”

Mihawk grimaced, scowled, and rolled his eyes through Fishman Island, the Edd War, and Zou. There were fine swordfighters at every stop, but they were all working at the same goal as he: defeating Rayleigh. No one had yet come up with a strategy or strength that bested his old man! What a thrill it would be to bring him to his knees!  

Akagami no “Shanks” was more of a problem in the New World as well. He’d moved on from currying favor with the crew and—apparently—had set his sights on winning over Mihawk. “Hey, _nii-san_ _!_ You want to practice with me again? I won’t let you get me this time!”

Mihawk took pleasure in showing the boy his place, though it was clear that the kid had ingratiated himself to both Roger and Ray. His backhand was slow; he trusted his intuition over his perception; he drug his feet instead of snapping into position. One foggy night while the crew was away, Mihawk read him cleanly; Red-hair never had a chance.

A green missile sailed toward Mihawk's face in retaliation the following night at dinner. Shanks and Buggy giggled nervously as Mihawk intercepted the pea midair. Once a second pea was flung his direction, Mihawk leapt over the dining bench and began pummeling Akagami mercilessly.

“Eeeaaii!” Buggy squealed as he hopped in a circle around the fistfight, “It was me! Not him!” He danced on alternating feet while Mihawk pinned Shanks and crashed into his face with his fists. “Punch **me**! See? I can dodge you! Look!”

But Shanks was his target: the boy who made his father happy. The boy who was invited to go along. The boy who received tender instruction instead of barked orders. His face complied with Mihawk’s fists, trailing a side-to-side stream of blood and saliva on the mess-hall floor.

A firm forearm wrapped around his chest and pulled him away. “Hey, Hawk-eye! _Chotto-matte!_ That’s enough!”

As Mihawk spun around, he heard another voice scoff, “That kid always causes trouble. Every time there’s a problem on this ship, it’s fucking _Mihawk_.”

The next thing he saw was Ray, socking the speaker of those words, his own crewmate, across the jaw so hard that his tongue needed stitches.

When the dust had cleared, the five of them stood in Roger’s cabin, where it was impressed upon them to “get their shit together,” and “stop being dumb.”

“Fair enough advice,” Mihawk thought as he returned to his room. Getting his shit together would mean leaving this place.

He slammed the door to his quarters and tossed himself into his hammock. This wasn’t the right place for him at all! No one needed him here; no one wanted him here! What was the point of staying on this ship at all? He snatched up the Den Den Mushi. She’d surely know what to do.

_Puru puru puru_

A click.

The snail heaved a sigh, and a pair of red eyes looked back at Shakky.

“Mikkun?” she asked sleepily.

“Hahaue. I… wished to hear your voice.”

“Is everything okay?”

The snail’s mouth opened and closed, pronouncing only the beginnings of words but then stopping.

“Mi-chan?”

“Ma— Hahaue… I dislike this ship and these people.” The snail blinked furiously until the water cleared from its eyes. “Would that I were home with you.”

She told him that he didn’t have to stay, that she’d come get him herself if she had to, but it was important to learn how to get along with a crew, even with people you don’t like. She reminded him that he’d come along to become the world’s best swordfighter, not to defeat his father but to surpass him and everyone who would come after him; all the while the snail nodded politely.  

Mihawk watched as the snail took a long drag on a cigarette. It closed its eyes for a moment and looked at him tenderly. “It will be alright, dear. Tough it out and keep your head down. Practice by yourself if you have to. But work at saying hello and having a pleasant conversation with at least one person a day. If you still feel miserable in a month or so, we’ll figure out a way for you to get off the ship.”

He hung up the snail and crawled out from his hammock to retrieve a book from his still-unpacked crate of belongings. He settled on a fantasy novel, and while he usually didn’t read such trash, brief excursions like this were a guilty pleasure, and a nice break from weapon treatises and history books. Besides, he’d had a bad day, so he deserved it.

Just as the action was picking up, a light knock came on his cabin door. Of course, it wasn’t really a cabin; it had been designed as a storage closet and was just long enough for a hammock and a lantern. Shanks and Buggy shared their own quarters, with shelves and closets. The new ship had been built without a place for Mihawk, so they stuck him here with the tacit understanding that he wasn’t a real crew member and wouldn’t be staying long. “It’s for your own good,” Ray had explained, “If you were a real crew member, you’d have a bounty. This way, you’re just a stowaway, not a pirate.”

The knock insisted again.

Mihawk grunted.

Rayleigh opened the door and saw the boy reclined in his hammock with a book propped on his knees.

“Kid, stand up.”

Mihawk’s eyes darted to the floor. His lanky spider legs crept out from the hammock and soundlessly to the floor. What was it now?

Ray had never seen him look so _defeated._ Was this the same boy who’d once snarled in the face of a dragon? Had life on the ship taken such a grave toll on him?

Mihawk steeled his jaw and took a fleeting glance at his father.

Ray swallowed the boy in his arms, nearly knocking the wind out of him. His iron arms pressed the boy to his chest, cradling the head of his only child until Mihawk gradually reciprocated the hug. When he pulled away, two tiny wet spots were visible on Rayleigh’s shoulder.

“Kid, let’s sit a while.”

Mihawk offered his father a crate, and the two sat side-by-side in the cramped, stuffy closet.

“I know it’s been hard for you on this ship. I know it’s always hard for you on my ship. It’s because there’s no escaping from people. It’s such close quarters. And you gotta depend on others to survive out here. Everyone has to work together. That’s tough for you; you’re not a very social person, and that’s alright. That’s alright.”

Mihawk leaned his elbows onto his knees, bracing for the “but” that was sure to come before some sort of criticism or insult. Tonight, it didn’t.

“I’m so proud of you, kid.” Ray placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And I love you. Not just because you’re my kid, but I love the person you are! Even when we argue— _even when we **really** argue_—I love the hell out of you. You’re a stubborn little hellraiser who won’t take shit from anybody. You’re smart. You’re clever. You’re the best swordfighter I can think of. And if someone’s giving you shit, I want you to clean their clock just like you did to Shanks.”

Mihawk looked up at him. “No one wants me here. You wish I wasn’t here.”

Now it was Ray’s turn to cry, and he was much less shy about it. “You really think that? Christ, I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you, but if I let you think that, then I’ve really fucked up.” He took off his glasses and pinched between his eyes. “I’m glad to have you here. You’re my boy! I get to watch you grow and learn and help you be a better fighter every day! And I know I screw up a lot. I know we don’t always get along. But having you here makes me proud! Makes me happy to see your face every day. Happy to see how strong you’re getting. And smart! You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, way better than those two knuckleheads. And your sword skills are amazing! No one can top you! –Ah, I told your mom I wouldn’t make this about swords.”

“So she put you up to this? Coming to talk to me?”

“She said you needed a hug. She was right, as usual.”

The two sat in silence.

“Mihawk, I wanna see if we can’t find a little time every day to just sit a while, even if you don’t wanna talk. We shouldn’t just argue during training and then go our separate ways. I don’t want you to think –ever!– that you’re unwelcome here. Or that I wish you weren’t here. I love you, kid.”

Mihawk breathed a barely-audible sniffle before nodding and whispering “I…” but the rest of the sentence wouldn’t come out.

Ray pulled him by the shoulder into his side. “It’s alright, kiddo.”

With renewed understanding, the rest of Mihawk's time aboard the Oro Jackson was finally tenable, if not always pleasant. At least the New World was a more colorful backdrop for his training!

Mihawk was annoyed the crew wasn't better prepared for the journey at times, but they were a formidable bunch and always seemed to manage to continue pressing onward, just the same (which was, naturally, irritating in its own right). He never felt a true part of the crew, but he enjoyed a degree of acceptance and respect that wasn't there initially, and as the circumstances were not of his design, he thought the situation was the best he could hope for.

From that mindset, the voyage remained amicable through their stopover in Wano-Kuni. Wano fascinated Mihawk! Everything was swords: sword demonstrations, sword museums, swordsmiths, even sword barbers! One unassuming old man took an interest in the boy and offered him pointers that blew his mind—perspectives he'd never considered. Everything seemed fresh for the first time in as long as he could remember, and their stay ran its course before it felt like any time had really passed at all. 

As the crew was readying the final provisions and preparing to set sail again, Ray took Mihawk aside. “Kid, do you like it here?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Do you want to stay a while? I can pick you up once we’ve got the treasure.”

Mihawk’s eyes widened.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you, now. Understand that. I just want you to be happy. And I know you’ve enjoyed learning from these people.”

“I wonder how long I would stay here.”

“Until I come get you. A year or so? I feel like some of this Wano stuff would give you an edge on other fighters, you know?”

“Yes.”

“Kid, look me in the eye. I’ll be happy to take you if you want. I’m not abandoning you. Matter of fact, the thought of being without your daily bullshit makes me tear up a little. But I haven’t seen you so happy and curious in a long time, and it feels like a shame to make you pull up stakes along with us. Do you want to stay and study here?”

“Yes.”

Mihawk turned 17 in Wano. It was a perfectly uneventful rainy day spent in training and study.

When Ray came to retrieve him, he pushed his son harder than ever. If Roger really was disbanding the crew, then the world was about to get a lot more dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazingly talented kazuma773 on tumblr took my commission to draw the childhood photo on Mihawk's nightstand from this chapter! I just love it! 
> 
> [Come see it here!](https://kazuma773.tumblr.com/post/184643170470/i-made-an-illustration-for-waskonedo-ttf-fanfic)
> 
> * Yes, I know I can embed images on AO3, but you really should check them out, especially if you love Mi-chan!  
> <https://kazuma773.tumblr.com/>


	6. Bon Voyage

February.

Bone-chilling, soggy wind that lapped at the swamp.

Training.

Clanging of steel on steel; sweat running into mouths and spraying onto the wooden floor.

Passion.

Forgetting time, place, and moment in the endless thunderbolt of a thrilling embrace.

Infatuation.

Tingling with giddy anticipation; goosebumps appearing at the flash of a memory or a memory yet to be.

And wine—so much wine!

What little energy Kasumi had left was spent in sculpting the fine details of her marble bird, which—while not quite as realistic as she’d hoped—had become an entity of its own; once-cold stone alive with the illusion of movement and warmth, if not anatomical accuracy.

Mihawk coughed and scrunched up his face when he entered her workroom. “Shouldn’t you be doing this outdoors?” he asked.

“It’s fine!” she laughed, “I have a mask and the windows are open! Besides, the humidity keeps the dust down. Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“It’s loud and messy,” he informed her, “But I dare not dream of evicting the princess from her castle. Do as you wish. Your project is certainly… progressing.”

She stuck out her bottom lip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. Despite the disturbance, your project is progressing. You have made an artistic facsimile of a bird. As you said you would.”

A choke of laughter escaped her, and she pressed her chalky lips to his. “So what do you want? Shouldn’t you be asleep right now?”

“There’s a ship to the northeast. Your Fortier’s, if I’m not mistaken. A large ship.”

Kasumi groaned and tilted her head back on her neck. “Argh, I knew he’d be here soon. I was awful to him last time—told him not to come back for a month.”

“Seems so long ago…” Mihawk mused, “Nevertheless, he approaches. I assumed you’d like to be notified.” He patted her on the hip, releasing a cloud of dust into the sunbeams.

She found it difficult to stop grinning long enough to give him a proper kiss. He was so oddly charming! Once their lips separated, she leapt up the staircase to change clothes while he traipsed down to the dock, where he stood as the Colossus of Rhodes, shielding his eyes with his palm.

Presently, a clipper ship hoisting a _Vitesse des étoiles_ rooster flag came into view, followed by the sight of a goofy-looking man waving and grinning at the bow. The ship slowed; the anchor fell; a small rowboat was deployed. Yet Fortier kept up his enthusiastic greeting between pulls on the oars, and Mihawk huffed a laugh despite himself. Was the old man really this idiotic, or was he putting on a show of bravery for his crew?

The crew of cargo workers surely thought the boss had gone mad. Not only did they have a race against time to be the first supplier of this year’s harvest of exotic wood from the forests of Jaya, this foggy island was cursed and everyone knew it! Boss Fortier had done some strange things in his time, sometimes disappearing for a while or hinting at a past few of his employees knew, but **voluntarily** rowing up to an island best spoken about in whispers was hardly _de rigueur._

The cargo sailors sat glued to the rails when Mihawk grasped the older man’s forearm and pulled him from the rowboat.

“Fortier.”

“Dracule-san.”

Kasumi stumbled down the hill to the dock and into Henri’s arms, which accepted her unconditionally, as always. “Riri!” she squealed with tears in her eyes, “It feels like it’s been forever!”

Henri laughed and lifted the princess off the dock. “O-hime-sama! So happy to see you!”

Fortier’s crew began to sniffle and sigh. The realization hit them like a thunderbolt! The boss had given away his niece, that strange girl, in an arranged marriage to the warlord Dracule Mihawk! No wonder the westward passages had been so free of pirates lately! What a guy! To sacrifice his niece for his workers’ safety! Boss Fortier was surely a man among men!

Kasumi grasped Henri’s shoulders in her palms. “What are you up to? Why did you bring such a big ship?”

“It’s that time of year, petite, the most dangerous and most profitable trip we make! And my crew’s stronger than ever this year! Euh, on second thought… they’re all a bit young and stupid.” He brightened and added, “But they’re strong! We’ll snatch up every bit of lumber we can and race back home. Already got a dozen standing orders waiting on us!”

He heaved himself into the kitchen and plopped down at the table. “So I can’t stay long. Just checking in on you, eh?”

Mihawk put the kettle on and tried (unsuccessfully) to appear as if he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“I’m fine,” she said, “We’re fine. Mihawk’s dad came for New Year’s. And the humandrill shelters turned out great—thank you, by the way. Let’s see… I also started trying my hand at marble sculpting. I’m not very good, but it’s fun, and—”

“His father?”

“Yeah, Sil—”

Mihawk turned to stop her from pronouncing that man’s name. The dreaded pirate name that held the power to taint anyone’s impression of the Shichibukai himself, the name his parents had avoided giving their son, a name barely spoken aloud at all these days. But the words had already spilled from her mouth, just as the tea sputtered forth from Fortier’s.

 _“P’tain de bordel de—”_ He halted when he noticed the younger man’s grimace. “Euh, I mean to say, I wasn’t aware that you were, ah, that he was…” he drifted off and then snapped his attention back to the princess. “But it’s no matter! Let’s just focus on catching up, hime-chou. You have time for a quick spar with me?”

“Of course!” she chirped, “Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

She led him to the training room while Mihawk slunk behind in the hallway shadows. He stood in the doorway and observed the princess while she stretched and spoke excitedly to Fortier about her most recent bout in Water Seven, stopping mid-sentence once she noticed Mihawk hovering.

With three great leaps, she was standing before him, grasping both of his hands in hers. “You don’t have to stay.”

He exhaled, his expression unchanged. Was it worry? Concern? Feeling excluded? She couldn’t place the emotion, but it was rolling off him in sheets.

_“Really! I’ll be fine! This will just take a minute. Didn’t you say you wanted to get a head start on dinner?”_

Mihawk nodded, but the distressed look persisted. “He doesn’t like me, does he?”

She pulled on his arms, standing on her toes to lean up for a peck. _“Of course he does! Why wouldn’t he?”_

“He has plenty of reasons, I suppose,” he muttered, “You, eh, have a nice bout.” He turned and disappeared into the hallway, instantly regretting how pouty he seemed but unable to do much else with the feeling.

The princess and the soldier enjoyed a quick and lively spar, each delighted to fall back into their familiar routines. Henri was unabashed in his praise for her growth; she seemed not just stronger, but freer in spirit and movement than ever before! Her confidence had certainly never been lacking, but now she fought with a blade so sure that each action was completed before he’d even processed her approach. She was a fiery talent in the prime of her youth! And to be quite honest, it was a relief to be free of the task of taming her. 

After their reunion, Henri presented her with a crate of her books from the barn. “Between you and Marius, I could start my own bookstore, hoh-hoh! You know he’s always got something on loan from some obscure library, and of course you know who has to eat the cost every time he loses one! He lost a bit of his thumb too, by the way. In a dock accident.”

“Oh, that’s too bad…” she mumbled.

“I’d like to talk to Dracule-san before I leave. Where did he run off to? Keep up your training, petite. Let old Henri know if you need anything! Remember, I stand in complete devotion to you, hime-sama. Don’t forget me.”

She wrapped him in an emphatic hug. “Of course I won’t. I’m sorry I snapped at you last time. Don’t worry about me, though. I’m really happy,” she grinned. “He’s probably out on the western dock. But be nice to him, Riri. And be careful on your trip.”

 _“Certainement, ma fille,”_ he sang, “your Henri won’t let you down!”

He found Mihawk at the dock sitting on a wooden stool with his feet propped onto a barrel and his hat slung low over his face, a fishing pole dangling from his hand.

Henri’s salt-stained boots vibrated the dock. “Anything biting?”

“Not yet.”

The boots stopped beside the Shichibukai and paused for a few minutes. “Mustache, eh? You kids are growing up quick!” He looked into the water and thought for a moment before adding, “Euh, there’s a spot on the south side, a spot where the bottom drops off. Where the swamp juts out a bit? Lots to find there this time of year.”

“Is that so?” Mihawk asked, “I suppose I’ll venture a visit tomorrow.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Henri leaned into the afternoon sun. “She’s precious to me. I think of her as my daughter.”

“Mm.”

“And she can certainly make her own decisions. She’s not mine to give. And she’s not yours to take.”

“Naturally.” Though Henri couldn’t perceive it, Mihawk’s grip on the fishing pole tightened. What was the old man’s point? Of course he’d treat the princess properly! Didn’t he know that she was precious to him as well?

“She says she’s happy with you.”

“My everlasting wish is to see her smile.”

“ _Bien, bien_. That’s nice.”

This boy was as naïve as she was! Warlord or not, he was still just a young man being led around by—at best—his heart! Did he even realize what the princess was capable of?

Fortier worked up his courage a bit before he tilted back the hat on Mihawk’s head and stood over him to look into those frightful eyes. “Take care of her.”

Mihawk snapped up and towered over the former military commander. A crooked scowl passed over his mouth, and then all at once his expression changed into one of near-hurt. “Fortier-yo,” he said, every line in his face twisted into a crinkle, “Don’t you know me at all by now? I,” he swallowed, “love her. She’s safe here; we’re happy. We’ll be happy a long while… What power I have bestowed by my sword and my position pales in comparison to her power over me. I stand at her beck and call.”

His eyes darted to the water before meeting Henri’s gaze. “You’ll see I’ll treat her properly... I’m no fool.”

A faint vibration on the fishing pole caused Mihawk to flick the line from the water, bursting through the tense mood as easily as the water’s surface. A red and yellow fish plopped unceremoniously onto the dock.

“Hoh-hoh!” Henri laughed, “Nice one!”

Mihawk looked down at him with a half-hearted smile, and all at once Henri saw in him the same longing for approval he’d come to know from his own son.

“That’s a fine catch!” he announced as he slapped his hand on Mihawk’s shoulder. “A very nice catch, Dracule-san. Though they’re not good for eating.”

“I’ve been eating them fine. And call me Mihawk.”

Henri patted the young man’s solid shoulder. Oh how these two deserved each other! Two brash, passionate, naïve fools! Kasumi probably had him wrapped around her finger by now!

“Just, you and she… take care of each other. Call me on the snail if there’s something you need. And in training, let her know that she’s slacking on hopping around. She should be doing more of that.”

Mihawk rolled his eyes but put aside his derision as he stepped forward. “Thank you, Fortier. Please don’t fret for her. The island is hers. I swear my allegiance to her the same as you.”

Henri slapped his hand on Mihawk’s back with a grin. “Take care. I’m, euh, glad you two have each other.” The cargo workers watched gape-mouthed while Boss Fortier rowed back out to the ship, and before long, the _Vitesse des étoiles_ ship had disappeared over the horizon.

Kasumi hopped onto the kitchen counter and sat with her legs dangling over the edge. “So… are we done with parents and guardians for a while, then?”

“Kukuku! I certainly hope so,” he mumbled while rinsing out Henri’s teacup. “Though… there’s another matter to be resolved before contentment wraps its tail around this island.”

“What’s that?”

“Ah, wait here.”

He returned in a flash with a handful of paper bills. “This is 65 thousand. I wish to make things equal between us. ”

She fanned the bills under her nose and smiled. “Good. Now we’re even.”

\----

A few weeks later, Mihawk looked up from chopping a pile of daikon and announced, “I’d like to take you on a short voyage, hime-kun. Within the week?”

Kasumi’s eyes dazzled. “Really? Great! I can’t wait to fight again! This time, I want you to give me at least a few dozen to kill on my own. I want to really try to—”

“Ah, ‘twas not a fighting excursion I had in mind, dear. A short holiday. A trip. For you and I.”

The sincerity in his face told her all she needed to know in order to answer him: “That sounds nice. Whatever you have planned, I’m sure it will be lovely.”

He nearly grinned as he turned back to his vegetables. “We can leave as soon as you allow. Perhaps a day of travel, and a few nights of indulgence? That purple dress you had made. And anything else that makes you happy. Pack it all and allow me to… to take you out. Princess.”

Eager to explore a new destination, she packed her things that night and nearly dragged Mihawk to the coffin boat as soon as day broke. “So, where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he frowned, “I’ve never been there myself, so I suppose… we might explore it together.”

He was obviously enjoying keeping the secret to himself, playing at a role somewhere between captain and tour guide, and seeing him beam with self-satisfaction was worth more to her than spoiling the mystery. She relaxed on the deck with one of the books Henri had brought, occasionally looking up to gaze over the horizon while the wind whipped at her sun hat.

At midday, he called her attention to a blurry figure what must have been miles away. “Look, Shikkearu,” he gestured with his head, “it’s the Sea Train construction.”

She raised her palm to her brow but couldn’t make out more than a gray blob that might as well have been a dead whale. “Is it really? I can’t tell.”

“What’s it been?” he mused, “Three? Five years? At this rate, I’m amazed the project is still moving forward.”

“Tom knows what he’s doing,” she scolded him, “and it helps Henri too! If the shipwrights do well, Henri does well, and if the city can get more trade routes, everyone can benefit. Just imagine all the things we could have in Water Seven!”

Mihawk’s thoughts drifted to exotic wines and bespoke pajamas, while Kasumi dreamed of books and foreign snack foods. The Sea Train was the only endeavor of its kind—the idea of permanent connections among islands on the Grand Line had seemed laughably dangerous at first, but the promise of bringing more trade to the island buoyed the hopes of the inhabitants of Water Seven. Cargo suppliers like Henri would adapt to the influx of imports, and the city’s reputation would grow as their hero Tom proved once and for all that Water Seven was a world-class city.

Near dusk, the couple approached an island that buzzed with neon. Skyscrapers with lights that searched across the sky welcomed them to what seemed like a metropolis in the middle of nowhere.

She gave him a feisty look. “Where are we?”

“You once mentioned you’d like to see the gourmet island. This is Pucci. Just south of Water Seven. I thought the princess should know what a restaurant is like, and a good one.”

“Are you,” she smirked, “taking me on a date?”

“Insofar as my comportment, no. I feel that no special occasion is mandated in order for me to indulge you. This trip is merely to satisfy your curiosity.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she grinned.

He docked at the edge of the harbor light and accosted the man who came to issue them a dock permit. “What hotel is best here? Where do the royals stay?”

The man burped through his beard and handed Mihawk a red sticker for his hull. “That would be the Pantagruel. Good luck finding a room there. Everything’s booked, now that it’s mushroom season.”

Mihawk grimaced as he affixed the sticker to the coffin boat, pressing ever-so-lightly so it would leave no mark when he removed it later.

“Which way to this Pantagruel?”

The man gestured with his cigar. “Top of the hill to your northeast. Big golden fountain—you can’t miss it.”

Mihawk slung their belongings over his shoulder and offered his elbow to the princess. Beams of sunset were reclining over the city; people were settling in for their evening plans, and no one seemed to bat an eye at two young swordfighters walking arm-in-arm.

The Pantagruel certainly was imposing! Tiered fountains and colored lights danced in front of the portico, and a bellhop greeted them at the entrance. He stepped aside to open the door, revealing a glimmering and nearly-blinding lobby.

 _“Let me take care of this,”_ she told Mihawk silently.

The man at the desk gave them a broad smile. “And who may I say is checking in?”

“Shikkearu Kasumi,” she offered.

“I… don’t think we have anyone by that name,” he mumbled as he flipped through a book.

Kasumi straightened her back and offered a genteel smile. Mihawk felt her tense up against his arm and a faraway buzzing sound seemed to blend in with the noisy fountains in the lobby.

“But we’ll be happy to put you in the finest room available! First come, first serve, right?”

“Of course,” Mihawk muttered.

Resisting the urge to balk when the man told him the price, he slid over a thick fold of bills, knowing full well that it was too much, but hoping that it would help the rabbit’s ruse succeed.

They were led to a penthouse with stark gold and white furnishings and plate glass windows overlooking the city. Kasumi threw herself onto the bed and stretched out her legs.

“Hey,” she asked the bellhop, “what’s the best restaurant in town?”

The young woman scratched at the back of her neck. “Well, it depends what kind of food you like.”

Mihawk palmed her a few bills without checking the denominations. “Something classy. Formal.”

“Well, you could try the Jeweled Scallop if you like fish, or Puccini’s if you want noodles… Eat is very cool, kind of post-modern, or the Newpont if you want somewhere”—she raised air quotes—“traditionally fancy, but you’ll never be able to get a reservation there.”

“Then the Newpont it is!” she laughed.

“Good luck,” the woman mumbled, “Please call the front desk if we can provide anything to make your visit more pleasant. We pride ourselves on our customer service!”

Mihawk nodded and closed the door with a frown. “What a pathetic thing to pride oneself on…”

He turned to Kasumi, who was smoothing her hands over the dress she’d removed from her bag.

“Aw! It’s all wrinkled!” she said as she flapped it over the bed.

“Then we’ll have our clothes pressed before dinner. I’m sure they’ll do it for a fee. Especially for their penthouse guests,” he nearly grinned, “Tell me, rabbit, was it so easy for you to beguile them? And what do you plan to do if they catch on to your ruse? Won’t they realize that something’s amiss?”

“Not if I can talk to them again. People like that are too busy and greedy to notice when they’re being tricked. Now how do I tell them to call the laundry service?” she asked, holding a gilded snail, “Do I have to dial a certain number?”

“It’s usually zero,” he informed her as he peeked out the windows briefly before drawing the curtains shut. The city at night was far too bright for his liking, and the lights all seemed to make a humming noise. The penthouse décor was harsh and glaring: bluish white with gold accents in every conceivable location. A chandelier held several dozen flickering electric bulbs; Mihawk would have preferred two or three—or even better—none. So this was Pucci.

After a joint shower, they changed into their newly-pressed formalwear. Kasumi found the swing of her new dress hypnotizing in the mirror! She hadn't dressed up like this since... well, years, anyway. Besides, tonight was a night for happy thoughts, not for thinking about those old parties. 

“What’s this?” she asked, pointing at a hole in the bathroom wall.

He stared at her in the mirror while he shaved and explained, “It gives hot air to dry your hair. You push the button and stand in front of it.”

Thoroughly amazed, she danced and bobbed in front of the hair dryer for a half hour, even putting her open mouth in front of it.

“Lookw, Miyok! I’mb a pufferfishd!”

He lowered his chin and lifted his eyes. “Shikkearu… I hope you’ll be ready for dinner soon.”

“Ob course I wilb!” She shut off the hot air blower and joined him in the bedroom. “My hair dried so quick! And so smooth and straight! I want one of those at the castle!”

“It would require a great deal of construction, my love. Perhaps someday we can investigate it. How long until you’re ready to leave?”

She popped a pair of sandals onto her calloused feet, revealing ten unpolished toenails. “I can be ready now. Are you going like that?”

Mihawk looked down at his suit: a half-unbuttoned white silk shirt, a suit jacket with straps to hold Yoru, matching pants, his usual boots, and a black paisley pocket square. “Is it not appropriate?”

A bare hand gripped his as she whispered, “It’s fine! I just… you don’t want to button your shirt?”

“I do not.”

She stifled a laugh and slid Fuchi into her waist sash.

Eying her weapon, he added, “I’m quite capable of defending the two of us.”

“I feel naked without it.”

“Well, we can’t allow that, can we?” he teased, “Allow you to feel naked?”

“Ask me again later,” she said, needling him with her best sexbomb expression.

“Humph. Keep talking like that and you’ll be embarrassed to wear this,” he said with a smirk before removing her tiara from his bag and settling it into her hair.

She straightened it and looked into the mirror with her hand on his elbow. “You brought this? You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Of course not,” he said.

They left the Pantagruel, strolling past a customer who was arguing with the front desk about his penthouse being occupied. The two made their way through town towards the Newpont, looking like a pair of ridiculous swordfighters on a prom date.

People might have laughed out loud if it weren’t for the couple’s ominous auras. Kasumi, with a coy smile and mischievous eyes, her sword clinking at her side, with scars peeking out unabashed from a simple but splendid gown, her hand grasping the arm of a sinister-looking renegade with a slight build and a sword hovering over him like a crucifix, a man who—if they hadn’t known who he was—might have seemed more like a cross between a disco dancer and a poet.

“Ka-su-mi,“ he said, enunciating her name the way he always did, “I quite like the way that dress suits your form. It complements you. The way the silk falls upon your back…”

She laughed and squeezed his arm. “Just my back then?”

The yellow streetlights hid his blush as he admitted, “And the area below that.”

The crowd parted in front of the odd couple; a few whispers rose here and there announcing the man’s name and title, and Kasumi huffed when she heard someone refer to her as “that Warlord’s date.”

 _“Isn’t it weird being in public like this?”_ she asked him anxiously, _“Couldn’t we just go to a restaurant somewhere more private?”_

“The murmurings?” he whispered, “It always happens. Just walk forward.” He drummed his fingers on her forearm and gave it a brief squeeze.

With each step, he offered a syllable of poetry:

> When I think of you,  
>  I don't care about privacy.  
>  My reservations are defeated.  
>  I'll meet with you,  
>  No matter the consequences! *

A smile flashed across her face before suspicion furrowed her brow. “Doesn’t that story end with the girl getting locked away in a storehouse while the boy gets to run free?”

He smirked. “The young man was exiled.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t locked in a storehouse.”

“Well, he loved her very much. That’s the point.”

The Newpont was an old-fashioned establishment with a beige interior and a patio haloed by fruit trees. A man stood at the back of the dining room, his thin, curly mustache reflecting in the candlelight as he played violin for a small party of tourists.

The _maître d_ _'_ stuck out his palm at the pair’s approach. “No weapons.”

Kasumi grit her teeth and turned to Mihawk. _“Sit back and watch.”_

Her hand landed atop the man’s podium. “I just know you’ll have something for us! You really must!”

The _maître d_ _’s_ thumbs flipped through the reservation book. “We’re full. And there’s a strict policy against—”

The Shikkearu princess leaned back on her hips while her fingers snuck onto the man’s hand. “You wouldn’t turn away paying customers, would you?”

He touched gently at his nostril. Was it a nosebleed? Or just a sudden runny nose? Whatever the case, he needed to get these customers to a table—a **private** table. Somewhere away from the other guests. The VIP room! He swallowed down a mouthful of bile. The VIP room was booked. The reception room was empty.

_“We’ll take it.”_

“Very good, miss!” he said without missing a beat. He instructed a baffled server to lead the duo to the reception room, where chairs rested atop bare tables and light was scarce. The server tossed a tablecloth over a corner four-top and placed the longest tapers she could find in the middle of the spread.

“How kind of you!” Kasumi grinned like a Cheshire cat, “I just know you’ll take care of us all night!”

A low chuckle escaped Mihawk’s lips. The rabbit’s audacity was ridiculously charming! In the glow of the candlelight, her eyes sparkled with the same radiant confidence he’d become accustomed to seeing in the sparring room. She was succeeding at using her talent, and her pleasure doubled his.

The server unloaded several thick menus before the pair and filled their water glasses. “We have a canapé platter that comes with your choice of champagne or whisky.”

“Can it come with something else?” Kasumi interrupted, “Like red wine?”

“We prefer to reserve reds for the main course…”

“Oh.”

Mihawk closed the wine menu. “Well, we don’t reserve them. Bring a bottle of each of the selections from page three. The cabernets.”

A flat smile spread across the young woman’s mouth. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The server disappeared into the darkness of the reception room as Kasumi kicked Mihawk softly under the table. “Isn’t this fun?” she beamed.

“Eh… you _do_ realize that we’re not in the restaurant proper, don’t you? Rabbit, we’ll be lucky if they don’t forget entirely about us back here.”

“So?” she laughed, “I’d rather be alone anyway!” She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap. “Will there be more servants, or do we just get one?”

“Ser _vers,_ dear, not ser _vants,_ and I imagine that they only sentenced one employee with waiting on us.”

Kasumi adjusted Fuchi and asked, “But what do we do if we need something?”

“You call them over.”

She nodded.

“Politely. Discreetly,” he added.

The server returned with a canapé tray and a basket of wines. Mihawk selected the first bottle and rolled his eyes at the ridiculous uncorking display. The server poured them each a small taste and then stood back for their approval.

“That’s all?” Kasumi said, “I want more than that.”

The poor waitress offered a befuddled smile. Then, curiously, she found her hand tilting the bottle until the princess’ glass was nearly full to the top.

Mihawk chewed his bottom lip to restrain his smirk. “That’s fine. You can leave the bottle… and the others… and your corkscrew.”

“I suppose it meets your approval then?” the server wondered aloud, “I’ll return in a bit for your hors d’oeuvres.” What a strange couple! The gourmet island certainly got its fair share of weirdos and eccentrics, but a young woman hardly older than her, wearing a tiara, acting like she’d never seen a restaurant before? And why had she overpoured the wine? And her date! Some kind of red-eyed pirate who’d requested his sword get its own chair? Once this night was over, she needed to ask for a raise!

Once she was out of earshot, Mihawk leaned across the table and grasped Kasumi’s fingertips. “Rabbit-yo, they offer a small taste first so you can see if it meets your preferences. Then they pour what they consider a glass, which is much less than what we pour at home.”

“Oh. Did I mess up?”

“Of course not,” he said as he stretched out his legs under the table, “I’m sure she’s delighted by your… forthrightness.”

Once the wine was flowing, the tension melted, and Kasumi began to look forward to the server’s regular appearances at their tableside. “What will she ask next? When’s she coming back? What’s her name?” She was able to settle most of her curiosities when their waitress returned to take their dinner orders.  

"What do you recommend for a main course?” Mihawk asked in his usual unwittingly scrutinous tone.

"I suggest the rabbit."

Mihawk gave a sly grin and looked into Kasumi’s eyes. “The rabbit is quite enchanting, I’m sure. Exquisitely beautiful. Charming. Not too gamey, understand? Refined, but wild.”

The server’s eyebrows crept up her forehead.

“But I won’t have that. Can’t fathom it. Bring me the steak. Rare.”

Kasumi badgered the young woman with questions about nearly every entrée on the menu before settling on the rosemary chicken.

“This night just gets weirder and weirder,” mumbled the server as she headed toward the kitchen to drop off the order and fill in her coworkers about the “freaky sword couple’s” latest antics.  

Onion soup, mushrooms with capers, and a fish course followed, all while the couple drank more and more, eyes and smiles flickering in the candlelight.

“Are you enjoying this evening, Shikkearu?” he asked with a wink.

“Yes! It’s like having servants, but you just rent them for one meal! And the food is just perfect!” She grinned and ran her foot up his leg. “Thank you for bringing me. I just wish…”

“Wish what?”

She waved her hand as if to dismiss the thought. “I wonder if that musician would come in here. I thought it would be nice.”

When the entrees arrived, Mihawk requested the violinist, whose mustache nearly impeded his bow. His songs were low and sweet, dripping with saccharine emotion and romance. When he started in on an old North Blue waltz, Kasumi’s eyes widened.

“Oh! Henri used to sing this! I used to dance with my friend Sachiko over and over!” More than a little tipsy, she tugged at Mihawk’s hand. “Can we dance?”

A flicker of alarm flew over his face. “Rabbit,” he sighed, “although I’d certainly do anything for you, and I sincerely wish you to have a lovely evening… I’m afraid I have to decline your very kind offer…”

She snickered and pointed at him with her fork. “Whatever happened to ‘My reservations are defeated?’ Didn’t you tell me that on the way here?”

“That… does not include dancing in public,” he admitted.

Her disappointment was short-lived; as soon as the server returned with the cheese tray, Kasumi had recruited her to waltz in the ballroom, while Mihawk tipped the violinist to stay for the remainder of their meal. He poured another glass and watched the princess and the waitress twirling around the ballroom, watched as their initial nervousness melted into the giddy excitement of two young women spinning and laughing in the dark.

Kasumi’s feet were smooth and quick; her rise and fall as graceful the waves. Her steps were sure, and she seemed quite capable of either the masculine or feminine role depending on the mood. She danced like a royal, like the princess with skinned knees under her ball gown who had twirled and giggled away so many parties in her childhood.

Despite her enthusiasm, the waitress was full of apologies and missteps. Mihawk cringed when he saw her step on the rabbit’s sandals more than once, and she never seemed to understand what to do with her arms. When she tried to pass off a stumble as a small step-hop, he had to look away. He could dance far better than that! He could be the partner the princess needed! He could simply stand up right this moment and relieve his beloved from her misery!

He could. But he didn’t.

He was no Prince Charming! Him, Dracule Mihawk, waltzing around in a darkened ballroom like some drunk aristocrat? No. Not tonight, and not here. Perhaps someday he could take her to the Ripoff Bar…

Kasumi collapsed into her chair with an exhilarated grin. “That was so fun! This has been a really great night! The server—her name’s Gina, by the way—said the best desserts are the chocolate mousse or the fruit crepes. She also said that the sommelier wants to talk to you if that’s alright.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he deadpanned.

After dessert, the check totaled at least thrice the largest amount he’d ever seen Shakky garner, even at her most audacious. Mihawk chuckled a wine-softened “ku-ku-ku” and placed a clump of bills on the table. He’d prepared for this holiday by raiding his cash stores, pulling out bills that were impossibly blood-stained, and bundling the clean ones into stacks. If he ran out, there were always more gold bars in his luggage, and if by some chance that wasn’t enough, he had ways of procuring cash. This trip, however, was intended to be a peaceful one, a pleasant haze of food, wine, and each other, a chance for the princess—the Queen?—to experience the carefree luxury of the life she should’ve had.

The walk back to the Pantagruel was heady and sublime, and the air on Pucci was much less humid than the soup of Kuraigana. Kasumi stopped on a moonlit bridge to light a cigarette and leaned the back of her head into Mihawk’s shoulder.

_“This is nice.”_

He brushed a twist of hair behind her ear and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Does it suit you here, my love?”

“It’s fine. Everything is really nice… and I like it… but it’s so busy. And bright. I’m not used to all this noise and commotion.”

Mihawk exhaled. “Nor I. It’s boisterous here. I long for the deafening fog of our island.”

“But thank you for bringing me,” she said as she twisted around, “I’m glad we came. But I like it at home. And you might be able to dance with me there, mm-hm-hm!”

A red stripe tracked over his cheeks; his whisper as soft as steam: “I can dance.”

She blew out a derisive breath. “Sure, you can!”

“I can. I was taught by my mother… I can do many things you don’t suspect.”

She lifted her heels and pressed her lips against his, slowly pulling away with a gentle pop. “Like what?”

“Hmm,” he purred, “I can dance. I can ride horses. I can do calligraphy… I just, ah, don’t.”

Her lips latched onto his earlobe and mumbled, “You can ride? Seriously?”

“Of course,” he snapped, his eyebrows drawn in mock-concern.

“When did you do that?”

A pair of garnet eyes met hers. “In Alabasta. In my early teens. At the Alubarna Center for the Study of Horsemanship and Swordfighting—you may have heard of it as the ‘Blades & Saddles’ school?”

Her knees buckled as she laughed, “No! I've never heard of it. What kind of riding did you learn there? What was your horse’s name? What did it look like?”

He swept her into his chest and made a few strides toward the hotel, his palm brushing against her dress and pressing into her backside as it slid its way over the silk and down her hamstring.

“Its name,” he breathed into her ear, “was D-14. And I finished first in my class.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mihawk’s poem is from the the Shin Kokin Wakashū and was written by that Heian heartthrob Ariwara no Narihira.
> 
> おもふ に は  
> しのぶる こと ぞ  
> まけにける  
> あふ に し かへば  
> さ も あらば あれ
> 
> omou ni wa  
> shinoburu koto zo  
> makenikeru  
> au ni shi kaeba  
> sa mo araba are
> 
> [Shin Kokin Wakashū](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shin_Kokin_Wakash%C5%AB)  
> [Ariwara no Narihira](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ariwara_no_Narihira)
> 
>  
> 
> It’s also the first poem told in Section 65 of the [Tales of Ise](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tales_of_Ise) (the story about the girl in the storehouse)  
> The translation in this story is mine, but [this one is better.](http://www.wakapoetry.net/skks-xiii-1151/)  
> \---
> 
> [Visit me on Tumblr!](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/185192761726/pt-2-ch-6)


	7. Nothing Comes from Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: light smut at the beginning

The two swordfighters spent a few more days on Pucci eating, drinking, sampling, and shopping for gourmet groceries. In a tourist-trap postcard store, Kasumi bought a pair of binoculars she hoped would finally allow her to compete with Mihawk’s vision at sea and he promised to challenge her spotting abilities on the return trip.

After their second experience at a restaurant, the novelty of fine dining began to wane and they resolved to hole up in their hotel room, preferring each other’s quiet company to the din and agitation of the bustling island. A dinner of take-out was followed by an evening drinking on the balcony until Mihawk’s eyes grew tired, smiling softly when Kasumi teased him that he could stay out later if he’d try the binoculars.

He plopped onto the bed with his head hanging off.

“Kas’mi,” he slurred, “though I’m, ah, quite ready to return home the moment you wish, I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed your time here, as it were both more horrible than I’d feared and more tolerable than I’d hoped.”

She flapped her nightgown overhead, changed clothes in one motion, and dove under the sheets.

“Let’s go home then. I miss our bed.”

He twisted his torso like a fish flailing on land until his head met the pillow beside hers. “Mmm. Let’s go home. To our bed. And our island. Princess.”

Mihawk's good night kiss lingered just a little longer than necessary and Kasumi pulled him back into her as soon as their lips parted, digging her fingers into the meat of his back.

What followed was the culmination of several weeks of whispers and insinuations, dog-eared passages from romance novels they’d left each other in the bath, and the thrill of being on a strange island. The night dissolved into a long lusted-after session with Kasumi in control of the Shichibukai. The woman’s grip of his wrists while she worked at him with her mouth was exhilarating; subservience, so rare and thrilling, came surprisingly easy to him.

 _“Do you like it? Is this okay?”_ she asked, “Are you alright?”

He wiggled out his fingers and exhaled in a wheeze. She was in control. He felt relaxed—relieved! almost comforted—by the lack of responsibility.

She relaxed her grip and looked up at him in the moonlight. _“Is this okay?”_

“Please don’t stop. Press harder.”

\----

As the morning light streamed into the penthouse hours later, he twisted her hair around his finger. “Hime-kun, last night was… a spire among star-kissed peaks, electrifying and magnificent, a rogue wave among a tempest, much welcomed on the already-boiling sea.”

“I thought you might like it,” she purred, “Sometimes, people who, um, are used to being in a powerful position like to be more, you know, vulnerable in bed.”

“And where did you hear that?” he winked.

She rolled her eyes and blushed, “Uh, have you read the ‘Shackled Emperor’ series?”

Mihawk closed his eyes with a smile. “I slept with the second book under my pillow for several years.” He managed to get a word in here and there while she pecked at his lips. “So… that means… you want to… do that… more often, rabbit?”

Her lips pressed into his neck, bracing herself against the wave that rolled through her back. _“If you do.”_

“Splendid! Excellent! The sun is bright. The day is ticking away. Our bed at home offers much more… freedom of choice of activities. Return with me today.”

She laughed into his shoulder. “It seems like we’ve been gone so long. Let’s go home.”

Once the hotel bill was settled, Kasumi joined him in the coffin boat, a bundle of souvenirs on her back. The distant fog of Kuraigana seemed to beckon them home, and they found themselves near-homesick as they sailed northwest. Mihawk noted a few specks on the horizon as pirate ships, but nothing, it seemed, was worth delaying their voyage.

His mind was elsewhere, fixated on more _persistent_ matters, and none of the potential opponents gave any sign of being worth either his or the princess’ attention.

She leaned into the shoulder of the coffin boat, her bare feet in his lap and digging under his thighs while she poured over the books she’d picked up on Pucci. Every now and then, she pinched his leg with her toes, drawing closer and closer to the spot she knew would make him blush.

“Not at sea, hime-kun,” he chided as he wriggled out of reach, “It’s important to concentrate out here.”

“Mm-hm-hm-hm!” she cackled, “You’re asleep half the time anyway!”

“I’m still concentrating,” he contended. “You should as well.”

“On what?”

Mihawk glanced at the brim of his hat—not an eye-roll, but a flash of puppy eyes so fleeting that Kasumi thought she might’ve imagined the whole thing.

She straightened her back and asked again. “On what?!”

“On avoiding the ships that are out here so we can be home as soon as possible, dear.”

Turning to sit on her shins, she snapped her new binoculars to her eyes. “What ships?”

Once free from her curious toes, he slumped in his chair and placed a foot on the gunwale of the boat. They’d tested his vision against her new toy as soon as they’d reached the open sea. He’d outperformed the devices in terms of distance, accuracy, and clarity, of course. And naturally, she had every right to check the horizon herself; but it nagged at him a bit that she wouldn’t just _trust_ his eyes at sea, trust that he would tell her if anything was amiss.

“Various ships. Pirates and merchants. Nothing serious.”

“Let’s fight some!”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now!” she laughed.

They’d been away from training for four days, he argued, and she was out of practice. There was no guarantee the next ship he saw would make suitable opponents, he said. It’d be better if they just hurried home and she could plan a bounty capture in due time. He’d help her, he insisted.

She taunted, “You’re soft, Miho.”

“Quite the opposite,” he muttered under his breath. “Imo, you’ll have your fight. I’ll see to it. We’ll scout you a fine opponent. But not today?”

Frustration stirred under her skin, but she held on to her emotions, for now. She brought the binoculars to her eyes and stared off the starboard side. After a long pause, she asked, “Do you really think that?”

“What?”

“I’m out of practice.”

Mihawk closed his eyes with a smug sigh. “It doesn’t take long for an _average person_ to lose their form and technique, no. You may find it difficult to fight at your previous levels.”

Kasumi stared into the binoculars, though her vision slipped out of focus. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mm?”

“You’ve been away from practice just as long as I have.”

“I’m, ah, different,” he said.

It was true and she knew it; still the acknowledgment of it from him made her chest flood with dozens of emotions, none of them good. Four days wasn’t even that long! He was stronger, sure, but he didn’t have to underestimate her like that!

 _“I wanna fight the next ones I see,”_ she said through a clenched jaw, _“let’s just see how out of practice I am.”_

“Stubborn,” he mumbled, though he scanned dutifully over the sea in search of rabbit fodder. At length he announced that a “raggedy, listing tub of desperados” was visible some miles away.

Kasumi tightened her ponytail and urged him onward as a sloop came into view. The anticipation was the worst part, for her at least. Not knowing who she’d be facing, the blood pounding in her ears, crouching at the stern, stomach churning with adrenaline—she felt as tightly-wound as a ball of cord, near-bursting with stored energy.

Mihawk placed his hand on her back when he noticed her wipe her sweaty palms for the umpteenth time. “Shikkearu, calm. Breathe and focus.”

A grunt.

 _“Naginata._ See them? The entire crew has them. Do you remember how to fight against a pole arm?”

Another grunt.

“Pish, rabbit, do use your words.”

 _“Close the distance,”_ she answered, _“knock them off balance, strike quick.”_

He reached behind to draw Yoru as the sloop grew near. “Fair enough. I’ll be right beside you.”

Boarding the ship was no challenge, and the crew that met the pair seemed more like sinewy ghosts than the proud score of fighters who’d set out from East Blue six months ago. They swarmed at once, ferocious and desperate, gnashing at the intruders who stood between them and the next island.   

Kasumi inhaled. A white arc swept low across the deck, and Fuchi’s shockwave knocked the first group from their feet. She exhaled and lunged low into the next group: _close the distance._ The weary pirates swung too slow; Fuchi whipped and cut, its whistles silenced only by dull thuds and slippery noises.

He stood, as promised, at her side, knocking down outliers and keeping a watchful eye on the princess. In place of her usual fury, a methodical and icy destructiveness took hold; her strikes were deliberate and well-placed. So far, she seemed able to contain herself. When the crew was down to five, he stepped back to allow her to have her fill.

A grin slick with spittle and blood crept over her mouth. The group converged on her, some swinging their naginata and others wielding them cross-body, cornering the princess like a pack of boars. Four days without training had been too long; her thighs and biceps burned until they quivered, and her shoulder wasn’t doing her any favors. She swept into the lead fighter and ripped Fuchi upward. Good. One down.

She turned and ducked under a blow. A flurry of blades flew toward her, and each parry seemed to drain her more than the last. Suddenly, she felt as if she was underwater, heaving herself through the current, straining to see and hear through the obscurity of the coming fugue.

With her last breath, a pirate swung her naginata at the princess—a nice, even, horizontal strike that should’ve disabled anyone who lacked the benefit of armor.

“Rab!—” she heard Mihawk call through stuffed ears.

Instantly, haki blackened her torso. The shaft of the pole arm crashed into her ribs, expelling what little air she’d gathered and sending her mind spinning toward oblivion. It was enough to send her over the edge into the familiar dissociation of rage, and any other day it might have, but today she held firm. This was the edge, the Fuchi, the fine line between conscious action and furious reaction. She planted her feet on the boundary.

She rolled into the blow, twirling down the length of the naginata until she met her attacker face-to-face. For a moment, Kasumi stumbled near-drunk, searching for level ground, each motion feeling like a dream.

An image of a tightrope flashed in her mind, and she recalled Mihawk’s dry voice: “Aim to walk on the edge.”

All at once, the princess pressed down into her feet, feigned a high blow at her attacker, and then dropped into a sweeping cut that brought Fuchi nearly all the way around. The two outside pirates struck each other, then Kasumi’s blade opened the body of another with a nasty grunt. One left.

Mihawk’s eyes were fully dilated and locked on his beloved, Yoru at the ready. Each movement seemed cleaner than usual, more certain and purposeful; was she still in control? He searched her body for the usual clues she was losing her grasp on reality—unresponsive eyes, fixed expression, predictable and rhythmic movements—but found none. Her gaze was alert and lively, and her technique was excellent! The haki hardening was certainly a welcome development, even if she hadn’t activated it purposefully. She turned to the final pirate, a strong and nimble fighter twice her height.

“Do it,” he growled.

A spasm brought the corner of her lip up into a snarl; her torso heaved with every breath. She lunged, and the foe bought every bit of what she feigned. Once he’d committed to the strike, she leaned back on her hips and swung from the ground, cutting deep until she felt the resistance of vertebrae, and then her blade was free again.

The final pirate separated before her, and the Shikkearu heir slumped to the ground in exhaustion.

 _“Brava,_ hime-kun!” Mihawk laughed. “You halved the ones who would have had you halved!”

Quicker than a summer gale, he was at her side, lifting her shirt with a decency and gentleness not often found as of late. “It was a good hit she got on you. Lucky you took the least of it. Breathing alright? Does it hurt?”

He patted on her ribs and abdomen, not exactly sure of what he was looking for, but with the same tender thoroughness he’d seen others demonstrate toward wounded people in the past.

 _“I think I’m alright,”_ she answered, _“Is that all of them?”_

He helped her to her feet. “Yes, dear. You did it. Well, ah, 95% of them, you did. Nice work.”

She wiped Fuchi on the clothes of a nearby corpse and took a step forward. Before her foot had landed, her mind was spinning and her balance gave out, and she would’ve planted her face there on the deck if it weren’t for Mihawk’s grip.

“Rabbit, really,” he chided, “You managed to stay with me this entire time and you’re going to go woozy on me now? Wake up. You held its reins. This is a milestone!”

A soft “Mm-hm” breezed against his shoulder while he gathered her for the leap back to the coffin boat. Had she really done it? Stayed in reality the whole time? Her limbs didn’t want to move, but she knew where she was and what had happened. Was she finally able to control it?

_“I think I did it. I think I walked on the edge.”_

He alit into the boat and offered a hand as she lowered herself to the deck. “I believe you did, too,” he said as he turned to look back on the now-derelict vessel.

A corner of his lip pricked up, and his teeth met together firmly. The familiar wooshing noise grew until it filled Kasumi’s ears and she could hardly stand the vibration in her chest.

Mihawk’s chin drew toward his chest, two garnet eyes fixed in a glare at the sloop. Gradually, the vessel began to give, groaning as its timbers parted a few splinters at a time. No longer able to withstand the strain, she broke in two with a terrific explosion while Kasumi looked on, breath held, frozen in awe of the spectacle.

He stared into the distance with that creepy look of vacant satisfaction. His chest tightened as he snapped out of it, drawing a sharp breath and turning to a shocked Kasumi.  

“Imo?”

Her lips popped open to take a breath. “Was that you? Did you do that? From here?”

He knelt beside her at once and reached his hand around her back, pulling her shoulder into his chest. “No need for alarm,” he offered as he felt goosebumps cover her arms.

The prickly skin spread over her legs, back, scalp, and neck. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“It’s haki. I shouldn’t be so crude.” His hand smoothed over her tangles. “Apologies. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not. You just… surprised me a little.”

He pressed her harder into his chest, muttering, “I startled you. I shouldn’t use that. It’s… lazy and crude.”

Adrenaline now re-activated, she sat up and studied him in the moonlight. His brow was drawn tight, his mouth even tighter in a sad and unsure grimace.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you.”

She pushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “You just had to top me then,” she laughed, “Couldn’t handle that I found a new level?”

He started a retort, but she continued, “I’m not afraid of you. And I don’t think you’re weird, so quit saying that to yourself. It was just,” she shrugged, “a little startling. You know, like a firework.”

She leaned into his eyes and pressed her hands on his chest, and then she heard it: the same self-flagellation he gave off every time he dwelt too much on his own skill. 

“You’re not a monster! Why would you say that?”

“Because I made you feel this way.”

“If you are, then I am too, idiot. Do you think I’m a monster?”

“Of course not.”

“Then don’t say that. Let’s just go home.”

He rose to his knees with his hands on his thighs. “Then it’s settled. None of us are monsters. Quite right. You and I—“ he squeezed her playfully—“perfectly normal.” He breathed into her hair. “What we share is… abnormal habituation. If you’re normal, then I’m normal too.”

\----

That evening, Odette wrung out the dishrag and unfastened her apron before joining her son in the living room. When Henri was gone, the house was so much quieter!

Their older child had been much more like his father, but Marius was a reflection of her in almost every way: he preferred pleasant evenings in front of the fire to adventure and excitement, and she was pleased to see that he’d become as much of a bookworm as she’d been at his age.

She had no idea what had captured his interest as of late—“historical research” he called it—and she didn’t feel it was her place to pry further.

The princess had been gone for nearly 6 months now, and although Odette never spoke ill of the royal family—she didn’t even dare think such thoughts in case those people could read her mind!—she felt relieved to be free of the burden—no, blessing, **blessing!** —of raising the princess.

She’d cleaned out Kasumi’s belongings from the barn as soon as Henri had taken her to Kuraigana. Even if the girl wanted to come back, surely she would understand that there was simply no room for her here anymore! Surely she could find somewhere else to go. The girl was a decent farmhand, but it was just terrifying—ah, terrific!—to have her around. Now that she’d settled into the swamp with that Warlord, Henri had said she was truly in love, and if anyone could deal with her, it would be a Warlord. Plus young people fall hard; she wouldn’t be coming back. He might just kill her! Which, of course, would be a terrible, terrible tragedy! No one wanted that!

Besides, Water Seven wasn’t the princess’ home. Her home was the swamp, of course!

Odette had been born _here_ , of a wealthy family from North Blue. When she’d met that barrel-chested smiling man shopping with the royal family as a young twenty-something, his infectious laugh and accent had flipped every switch she had. She was captivated by his smile, his bravery, and oh, those muscles! She’d never limited herself to a certain gender, but she _certainly_ never dreamed she would fall in love with a thick slab of masculinity like Henri! And though she hadn’t pictured herself being the wife of such a rough-and-tumble man—or any man—Henri’s social graces picked up during his time with the royal family charmed her, and he was always ready to entertain her with stories about his adventures.

When she married him, she agreed to move to that nasty island. And she toughed it out for nearly 25 years! When the situation among that barbaric—beautiful!—family had gotten too dangerous, she packed up her youngest son and dragged him, kicking and screaming, to her family’s land here. At times, she thought herself lucky that it was only the one Shikkearu, and only the youngest Shikkearu, who survived. God forbid she might have to take in more members of this evil—ah, powerful!—family. What a wonderful opportunity that would be!

When the princess had arrived clinging to her husband’s coat, Odette had generously opened her home to the orphan. But her arrival had changed something in sweet Marius. The girl was mean to him! Picked on him for no reason! Bless her! She’d lash out with the slightest bit of teasing and injure the poor boy! The months without her here had been so dreamy and peaceful.

With her gone, and Henri on an extended trip to Jaya, the house was so calm! She loosened her bun and brushed out her hair before reaching for tonight’s newspaper. Marius hardly looked up from his book as he tossed her a pillow. She smiled and placed it behind her back before lying down on the sofa to read the society pages.  

Marius stretched out in his father’s usual chair with three books in his lap: “History of Neurology,” “Weapons of the Past,” and a notebook full of his own scribbling. The inter-library loan program at Water Seven had finally made the move to revoke his library card after 10 lost books, and he’d taken to robbing people in the streets for library cards, then using the inter-library loan desk wearing a disguise. Once they’d caught on to his scheme, his father’s line of work had allowed him plenty of chances to pilfer books from other libraries on the Grand Line. It was hardly theft; he _needed_ this information. More than anyone else in the world!

What he needed was proof! Proof to convince his father and the authorities that this girl deserved to be locked away! Or better yet, eliminated altogether.

Tonight, his research finally bore fruit. He scanned the entry again.

                                                                 “…neurological adjustments…”

“…weaponize hereditary trait…”

“…studies inconclusive…”

                                                                                       “…surviving subjects released to parents.”

The section heading was transliterated, but the meaning was apparent: “shi-ke-ah-roo.”

A shard of graphite pelted him between the eyes when his pencil snapped. This was it! This was the study he’d read rumors about for a year now! The project that had created these monsters and turned them loose on the world! The perfect weapon—an army that could predict their opponent and communicate without snails or words, just **slightly** more bloodthirsty. Just a small tweak. _Just enough_ to make them the ultimate government force.

In his research, he’d discovered that somewhere around 450 years ago, sources went from referring to the Shikkearu as upstanding, albeit eccentric, noble family to calling them traitors and murderers. What had flipped the switch?

Of course, _he’d_ always known there was something wrong with them—something wrong with their _brains._ He could see it in their eyes; they weren’t normal humans. They were evil. They were beasts. Monsters.

Someday, when he finally showed his father the evidence—collected it neatly and presented it, that is—he’d be able to convince him. Recruiting Maman would be a cinch; she only needed to hear that the people were in fact as savage as she’d suspected, and she’d take his side. It was his father who needed convincing.  

Sure, sure, his dad had been given to that wretched family after they’d rescued his grandfather in the Calm Belt. That was fine. In this world, and at that time, people did what they had to do! But Henri had developed Stockholm Syndrome. Marius saw it easily. Sachiko had been the only one to see it as clearly as he.

He bided his time until he had enough evidence. Once he had his facts in order—in the order he wanted them—his father would agree. There was no disputing the facts of the situation.

His father and elder brother had been brainwashed—even his mother to some extent—but not him! and not Sachiko. Everything Marius had read of late confirmed what she’d told him back then; this family was tainted. Animalistic. Less than human. More like the Drills than fellow humans.  

What Marius’ peer-reviewed and leather-bound sources failed to mention (because no one had ever written it) was that the family was promised their old land back: all of the now-struggling island of Water Seven plus Kuraigana—their former territory and more—in exchange for loaning their children to the Celestial Dragons for “study and assessment.” They were told the children would live comfortably and submit to a few non-invasive procedures, certainly not modification or experimentation.

Five children out of 18 returned a couple of years later, dead-eyed and quick to violence. Silent, heartless kids communicating only in vulgar threats who eventually drove the entire royal family into submission. These were the children who’d survived the homicidal frenzy of their cousins at the facility. The most clever, most deadly ESPers fueled by pure rage and a lust for violence, those self-selected survivors, were the origin of Kasumi’s stock.

Violence was normalized; anger was expected and tiptoed around. Interpersonal expectations only fueled the family’s intuition and telepathy. Furious, but insightful. Premeditated harm. Pre-activated violence.

Of course, the territorial agreement with the Shikkearu was never honored; the Celestials had never planned to honor it in the first place. Outsiders shook their heads and tsked:

“It’s really a shame what happened to that family.”

“Well, they shouldn’t have been dumb enough to trust the government in the first place.”

The monkey-taming royals who brought a team of Humandrills to each Reverie. The peaceful island insulated by the fog. The family exiled from Water Seven now offering mercenary services beyond the Calm Belt. The bloodthirsty inheritors of the island nearly drove themselves to extinction more than once. Family bonds meant little when the enemy was so close at hand.

Within two generations, they went from “peculiar” to “berserkers” who sent armies of humans and monkeys throughout the Grand Line. Once they were beaten back to their island, they turned on each other.

By the time Ryota had taken the crown, the island was in relative détente. The family was reduced to two brothers; the rumors remained, but the facts had been lost. Not even the Shikkearu or their retainers knew exactly what had happened. Mutants or witches were the most prevalent outsider explanations for what gave the family their power, while the royal family handwaved the question with a vague “It’s just how we are.”

Until something stirred the pot.

He’d seen it in her eyes. She was as evil as the rest. She was the embodiment of the reason _she’d_ died. They needed to be extinguished. His father—no his grandfather—had chosen the wrong side. They’d sold a proud North Blue family into the service of a bunch of cretins. Beyond that, his mother deserved better than this! She should never have been tangled up with those disgusting people.

That girl had never loved his parents! She probably hadn’t loved her own!

He scanned the article again. He’d finally found it: this was where they came from. And they were monsters, every last one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Join me on tumblr!](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I love hearing from you all!


	8. Sunflowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Emetophobia warning-- Skip to first line break to avoid

“Again,” Mihawk muttered.

“What?! That was perfect!” the princess wheezed, “I’ve done it perfect a hundred times by now!” A curtain of sweaty tangles clung to her forehead and neck; an oily, pulsating sheen covered her skin in the early morning light.

A pair of crimson eyes focused on the floorboards. “Again.”

She backed off, spewing a mist of perspiration over her shoulder. Once more, Mihawk began the drill: snapping his _naginata_ at her with a furious pace that caused her muscles to burn, then taking a savage horizontal strike just like the blow she’d taken during her most recent fight.

Her body moved automatically; each part of the dance was memorized by now. She clenched her jaw and brought Fuchi around again to intercept the pole arm.

_“I feel like I’ve got it.”_

Mihawk grimaced. “Feeling like you’ve,” —he smiled derisively—“ _got it_ is not the same as having it, Shikkearu.” Stepping forward to begin the sequence anew, he explained, “You must be able to fight at the point of exhaustion. Past it. Cross the threshold and go farther.”

He twirled the naginata overhead with his eyes fixed on hers. “It’s necessary… to be capable of repeating the maneuver perfectly. Again and again. I, ah, failed you. Last night. When you were hit. Eternal apologies.” The dance began again; Mihawk was capable of robotic precision and  repetition—the same attack pattern _ad infinitum,_ unvarying and perfectly executed each time.

“Until it becomes instinct,” he added as she disposed with the naginata again.

She grit her teeth, calling upon her toes for enough grip to stabilize the rest of her.

Again.

Again.

The room blurred and her vision began to throb with every heartbeat. She held up her hand; Mihawk relaxed and tilted his head curiously. Kasumi stood and wobbled for a moment before walking calmly to the patio, where she ejected her breakfast over the railing.

Finding no relief from the cool humidity of the patio, she wiped her mouth and returned to the sparring room with her hands on her hips, then swallowed and resumed her stance before him.

Mihawk’s brow drew together, questioning her without words: _Are you alright?_

_“I’m fine. Do it again.”_

\----

Mihawk hopped toward and away from his towering opponent, bearing a fearsome and calculating expression. He snapped his sword toward his father’s bokken again, as soon as the old man’s inner forearm flexed. That was the tell—not the glint of sweat on his forearm as it rotated in the sunset, not the motion of his hair or eyes—it was the tiny movement from the reddish-blonde hairs on Rayleigh’s arm that rippled down his skin in an imperceptible process that threatened Mihawk again. Again. Do it again. Do it again until the motion from the young boy’s blade felt as natural as walking.

Block. High block. Block-block-step. Strike.

Ray grimaced and pressed his bokken into his son’s sword with more force than he’d intended. Just what _was_ this kid? Too quick; too perceptive! And if he kept getting stronger, he’d soon be too arrogant as well. Mihawk was only six! After the boy had killed a man on Sabaody, Ray’d taken him to sea. To teach him to be a pirate. A fighter. To hone his natural abilities. And most of all, to keep him from becoming known to the Marines at home. 

Sometimes, the boy was absolutely fucking frightening.

Of course, Ray could handle him. He always could. Naturally. He was just a child, Mihawk was; and Ray was, as far as he’d heard, the strongest swordsman in the Blues and Paradise. Naturally. The child was just, that—a child.

Yet that ferocity…

It wasn’t the physical strength, or even the fighting sense. It was the pre-perception, a preternatural ability to read his opponents’ movements that the boy wielded with a near-creepy confidence.

Mihawk tossed the sweat from his brow and came at his father again. Ray’s bokken flicked a sequence that, to any other opponent, should’ve been a labyrinth of slashes.

A soft cough escaped the boy as he parried and countered the blows. Mikkun’s blade flew with ease, gleefully dispatching his father's every approach. He was blocking them all with ease! Mihawk's zeal swelled with each strike; he was impenetrable and began to telegraph that confidence in the motions of his blade!

As usual, the boy was pushing at his father to raise the stakes; there was a clear impatience to his strikes and counters that went beyond confidence and was just the sort of attitude that grated on Ray’s nerves.

His face hardened. “You’re too big for your britches, kid.”

The man who was soon to become known as the Dark King grimaced as he pulled his elbow back. Mihawk was wild. Cocky. Infuriating! Surely not _this_ good. Best to knock him down now, while he was young.  

He struck from his shoulder, snapping the bokken into the boy’s chest and mouth. Mihawk flew backward as if pulled by a cable, crashing into the ship’s railing as a mouthful of blood erupted from his lips.

His only son, Shakky’s treasure, rose shakily from his feet and wobbled toward his father. “Again,” the boy slurred.

Ray’s wrist flung the bokken against the deck with a crack. **“FUCK!”** exploded from his mouth as he rushed forward to grab the boy by his shoulders. “Can’t you fucking get it? You’re just a kid! Whaddya want me to do, beat the shit out of you? You’re just a fuckin’ kid.” He spat on the deck and paced away before adding, “You don’t take me seriously, then you act like you know everything. I’m trying to teach you to survive.”

Mihawk snapped into stance at his father’s waist. “You’re the one who's not taking this seriously. How do you expect me to learn if you won't treat me as a serious opponent?” His garnet eyes bored into Ray’s. “What you do is stupid. Predictable. You’re a _shit_ partner.” Gaban was preferable—or even Roger, the unpredictable lout! _Oyaji_ was no more than a common bully—a braying jackass who swung too hard just because he could, regardless of his lack of form.

“You’re spoiled. That’s your problem,” Rayleigh spat as he turned and refastened his sunset-hued ponytail. “You don’t even know what’s out here.”

Ray reached for the bottle of _sake_ sitting on the railing. Training with the boy—especially evening training—seemed to take longer every day. Furthermore, the kid was a shit pupil—gifted, oh god yes!—but listening to advice? Might as well, Ray thought as he swallowed another throatful, might as well throw the kid in a jungle and let him sort it out on his own!

A bit of static flickered at the edge of Rayleigh’s vision; the sake bottle exploded with a burst of Mihawk’s haki.

“Bastard!” the boy screamed, “I wish I never came here!”

Ray’s lip curled as alcohol burned into his freshly-cut fingers. “If you could shut up for a minute, maybe you could learn something!”

Roger slapped Ray on the shoulder with enough force to bruise, yet enough stealth to seem like a friendly pat on the back to the rest of the crew. “Well, we could all do to shut the fuck up, couldn’t we?” he asked with a grin peeking from under his straw hat.

His teeth pressed in a gentle smile, he grunted out, “Leave him the hell alone, Ray. He’s just a kid.”

Ray’s eyes met Roger’s and his face softened. “Sorry, captain. I’ll take care of it.”

Roger’s mustache twisted into a crown for his grin as he laughed, “Go pick on someone your own size! S’not that boy’s fault he’s so fuckin’ good! Ahahaha!”

The crew laughed easily—as they did for all of Roger’s jokes—despite the tension in the air. Arguments and altercations between the First Mate and his kid had become nearly commonplace. It was clear that the two were polar opposites, except for the countless ways in which they were the same. Their infuriating relationship weighed on the crew; their constant bickering and arguing cast a foul mood over the entire ship.

The Roger Pirates made their living slinking around East Blue, picking up odd jobs, dangerous transport, and providing mercenary protection. Ever since Ray had brought his son aboard, the mood had soured. When the kid had realized his father had a woman in every port— _and that his mother knew!_ —what was left of the relationship dissolved into bitter disillusionment.

Despite the bitter backdrop, their voyage moved ever forward, and with it came the intermittent need to stop for news, gossip, provisions, or just a break from the agony of routine. And so Roger, Gaban, and Rayleigh disembarked at Foxskip as the crew entered the Organ Islands. It had been tempting to leave Mihawk behind to allow him some time apart from his father, but they gambled that the opportunity to stretch his legs in port and soak in some new scenery might offer a better distraction.

As the four made their way down the wharf, a passing figure piqued Roger's interest. He peered over his shoulder to address the hooded man, stopping him mid-step.

“Eddie?”

“Eddie-sensei?” Roger asked again, softer and more curious this time.

The man’s cape spun around, dragging its tattered edge along the wharf. A saggy old man came into view: a mess of uncombed gray hair and a face full of sinew and sun damage that squinted at the captain.

Ray and Mihawk instinctively snapped their hands around their hilts as the cloaked man seized Roger by the shoulders and shook him firmly. 

A surprisingly-honeyed voice demanded, “Are you one of my boys?”

“Ahahaha!” Roger bellowed, “Yes, Eddie, it’s me, Roger! Gol Roger!”

The old man examined Roger’s features and exhaled a whiskey-tainted whistle. “Roger… Roger… You the little shit who never listened to me?”

Mihawk’s eyes widened—though his expression remained unchanged—when Roger drew his cutlass with a playful strike and laughed, “Didn’t listen? That’s because you didn’t have anything to teach me, you old sot!”

The strike was blocked with a flash of movement from the man’s simple katana, then a crooked smile erupted with a “Hin-hin-hin!” and Eddie threw his arms around his former student, exclaiming, “What the hell are you doing here, boy? Thought you’d be dead or in jail by now!”

“I’m doing just fine, thank you. Making my way with my sword, no thanks to your instruction, of course. I’ve got my own crew,” Roger said as he stepped aside.

The man’s eyes creased into a squint. “What, these two doofuses?” he said with a sweep of his hand, “and a child?”

Mikkun’s chest tightened. An insult! From a stranger! His father would never tolerate such insolence from any other man! Yet, Ray’s stance was relaxed, with his sword hand resting lazily in his pocket. Gaban wore an easy smile and Roger seemed to delight in insulting (and being insulted by) this raisin of a man. Still, better to be prepared, he thought as he twisted his fingers around his sharkskin sword grip.

The captain shoved Eddie in the shoulder with a laugh. “Don’t fool yourself! You wouldn’t know what to do if we so much as sneezed in your direction!”

“Hin-hin-hin! Tell me all about it, then. Come have a drink! It’s still early!”

Eddie led the quartet to a row of giant sunflowers just outside of town, laughing and slapping Roger’s back along the way. He ducked into a cluster of furry green stems as thick as saplings. “It’s around here somewhere…” he muttered.

A latch clicked, and Eddie chuckled. “Don’t even know where my own front gate is half the time! This island grows the weirdest shit, you know?”

The Roger Pirates parted the towering sunflowers to reveal a modest home flanked by a fine garden: a happy and unassuming place that seemed the perfect complement to a jolly, tipsy old man. Eddie invited them to the living room, where the men were poured the first of many rounds of _sake_. Mihawk was offered a cup of tea, which he politely accepted and was surprised to find included milk and sugar. 

“Walk around, kid. Make yourself at home. This conversation’s gonna get blue quick!” Eddie laughed, “I think I still have a few toys in the back closet.”

Raucous discussions of women, men, current events, and which Marine Admiral was the biggest jackass ensued as Mihawk wandered the grounds. First, he returned to the giant sunflowers, taking careful mental notes on their height, texture, scent, and color so he’d be able to describe them accurately to his grandmother when they met again.

He shooed a badger from the garden with a gentle shockwave and ran his hand over a row of feathery leaves peeking through vegetable trellises in the backyard. This was a nice place. The little house was quietly bounded in seclusion by holly bushes and sunflowers, just as peaceful as his home on Grove 13. The men inside were loud, bathed in flickering light, piercing the eyes and ears with overloading sensations. Out here, the air was breezy and warm, with a pleasant aroma of fruit and flowers freshened with ocean spray. He inhaled deeply and drew up a tiny smile.

The back door of Eddie’s house swung open and his father appeared in silhouette. “Kid, you still out here?” Ray asked with a burp.

“Yes.”

“Why ‘oncha come inside? Be social a while.”

Saying nothing, Mihawk turned and joined his father at the door.

“We’re gonna stay here tonight. Boys on the ship aren’t expecting us ‘til tomorrow morning, anyway. You want a snack or something before bed?”

“No,” Mihawk answered as Ray shut the door. “Oyaji, it smells good here.”

“Think so? Guess it does,” he grinned.

The trip back to the living room passed by a half-closed door, from which Mihawk caught a glimmer of moonlight on steel. He paused, tugging softly on Rayleigh’s sleeve.

Ray motioned dismissive encouragement as Mihawk's fingers curled around the door, sliding it open just a hair more. Swords! At least a dozen of them! His eyes flicked up to Ray’s.

“Go ahead,” his father laughed, “He said to make yourself at home! Just don’t fuck with anything.” Ray drunkenly beamed in the hallway as he watched his son near-tiptoe through the darkened room.

The boy paused at each sword stand, but let out a small “Oh!” at only one—Could it really be?!

He quickly compared the blade before him with what he’d learned from his sword encyclopedia: Blade? Hilt? Pommel? Age? If it wasn’t the real thing, then it was an exceptional forgery! To think that the old man had the Starbrand just sitting in his little farmhouse! Until now, the _meito_ swords he’d seen belonged to only the strongest swordfighters, yet this goofy old man had the Starbrand?! **_The_** Starbrand?

“You like that one, then you should ask him about it,” Ray said from the doorway, “Come on. They probably think we’ve strangled each other by now.”

Mihawk joined the party at his father’s side, seated on a floor cushion at a low table. He learned that Eddie had been Roger’s sensei almost 30 years ago in Loguetown; that Eddie had made his name as a mercenary before becoming a teacher, that he was a master of over thirty swordfighting styles; and—most importantly—that the old man was a lush who’d retired to the Organ Islands to “eat, love, and drink.”

“Drinking enough has never been a problem for you,” Roger taunted.

Eddie’s head jerked back in laughter. “I did what I could to survive all you fuckin’ kids!”

Once the roars died down, the old man slammed his cup on the table and turned to Mihawk.

The boy looked up into a pair of kind, red-rimmed eyes shining against a leather canvas of broken capillaries and smile lines. “Hey, kid, what’s your name again?”

“Dracule Mihawk.”

“And what’s Roger taught you? Anything at all?” he winked.

Mihawk straightened his posture before answering, “Eh, he, um, he showed me how to bait a hook, how to raise the sails, how to use a Log Pose, how to swing from the ratlines…”

“Did he show you how to counter **_this_** _?_ ” Eddie drew his katana in a flash and swung at the boy playfully, his expert hands fully in control of the depth of his strike.

Tilting his head curiously like a bird, Mikkun swung his blade to meet the old man’s weapon and stared at him incredulously.

“Ahahaha!” Roger bellowed, “That boy could take you right now! I didn’t have to teach him a thing! He’s a natural! His dad’s his teacher,” he added, nodding at Ray.

Gaban grinned; Ray beamed at his son, who sat glaring at the old man.

Eddie broke the silence with a slap on the table. “Hin-hin-hin, is that right? What’s your name boy?”

“I just told you. Dracule Mihawk.”

“You’ve got a real talent there, Michael. A lot of kids would’ve just ducked. Your dad’s a good teacher!”

Mihawk’s expression stayed fixed. What should he say? Should he praise his father? Correct the man about his name? Admit that his father was, in fact, a subpar, most unpleasant teacher and that swordfighting came naturally to him?

Roger—as usual—rescued the situation. “Eddie, you son of a bitch, of course he is! Ray’s unbeatable! Best swordfighter I’ve ever seen.” Roger shook Mihawk’s forearm in his fist with a loving jerk. “This kid’s amazing! Better than any of your shit students!”

“Eh, I’m done teaching kids. They’re too much trouble,” Eddie scoffed, “I got a woman that comes around now. Kids are nothin’ but a hassle.”

Ray stifled a laugh and wrapped his arm around his son. “This one’s special. Frustrating as all hell, but amazing talent. You wouldn’t believe it if you saw it.”

“I do see it.”

The room fell silent at Eddie’s pronouncement.

“He’s a good kid,” Gaban offered.

“Why ‘oncha go lie down, Mikkun?” Ray asked, nodding toward the hallway, “Got a big day tomorrow shipping out.”

The boy gave a quick nod to the group and—bypassing the bedroom—crawled onto his father’s coat in the hallway, carefully arranging himself in such a position that he might see the Starbrand through the half-open door until the moment he fell asleep.

The next morning he scoured the man’s kitchen for coffee and eggs, prepared enough for the group, and returned to the sword room. In addition to the swords he’d browsed the night before, he found a jumble of framed pictures on the walls: photos of Eddie with his arm around different children over the years, kids whose hairstyles changed while he stayed the same, only growing grayer and more sun-weathered as the photos progressed.

Such a broad, happy grin—the kind only found on old teachers who never lost their enthusiasm. In each photo he seemed as if he truly believed in **this** student; timeless confidence beamed from each one’s eyes.   

Roger’s laugh bellowed through the house: “No, I get more because I’m the brains of this fuckin’ operation!”

The argument beckoned Mihawk toward the kitchen, and he padded down the hallway with a frown.

Eddie produced a few coffee cups from the cupboard and turned to settle the egg disagreement. “Roger gets more. I spent my entire career teaching unteachable delinquents like him. First thing you learn is to pick your battles.”

Mihawk hovered at the end of the kitchen. _Those_ students? The ones in the photos? They looked perfectly obedient and happy! Certainly not delinquents!

Ray swallowed a mouthful of coffee and motioned at Mihawk with his fork. “Wanna take a crack at him?”

The boy’s eyes twitched from Ray to Eddie. Would his father really turn him over to the man with the red face? The man who kept the Starbrand? His mind briefly spun with possibilities of being an apprentice, just like in the stories his mother had read him.

Eddie eyed over the young swordfighter. “How old are you, Mirak?”

“Almost seven, ossan.”

The sensei poured whiskey into his coffee with a laugh. “Oh no. Oh, _hell_ no. I don’t take kids until they’re ten. Before that, they can’t focus on anything.”

“I can focus,” the boy shot back. He drew his sword and stood _en garde_ at Roger’s teacher, his blade blackened with haki while an audible vibration filled the kitchen.

The three Roger pirates cracked grins as Eddie’s scrambled eggs fell from his mouth.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve got a real talent there, Mylock!”

“Got every haki, too,” Rayleigh bragged, “and never been beat. Better than whatever shit Roger was pullin’ at his age, that’s for sure!” he grinned.

Eddie’s face lit up for a moment before dropping. “I’m not taking any more kids. I told the last one she was my final student. Gave her a plaque and everything.”

“He won’t listen to me,” Ray admitted.

A pause fell over the kitchen as everyone took a portion of their breakfast. It was true. The boy and his father fought worse than two roosters in a sack; even training sessions that didn’t end in a shouting match hung like storm clouds over the ship.

Eddie smiled and took another bite. “Little pup won’t submit to the top dog, eh?” he asked between swallows, “I’ve seen that before from kids raised by swordfighters. Training gets too personal.”

“Take him,” Rayleigh laughed a little too quickly, “It’d do him some good to hear from someone besides me.”

Roger jumped at the chance to regain peace on his ship. “It’s not a bad idea. Eddie’s the go-to sensei for, ah, kids who need extra training.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Eddie said before finishing the dregs of his coffee.

“I saw the Starbrand,” Mihawk blurted, “You have a lot of swords.”

“You know your blades, huh?” Eddie asked with a wink.

“I’d be a fool not to recognize it,” the boy replied.

“It was at my side for my whole career until I moved here. Just carry this hunk of tin around now,” he said as he tapped the katana on his hip.

Mihawk looked over the simple blade; any master swordfighter who would carry such an unpretentious weapon couldn’t be half-bad… plus the man had trained Roger himself!

“I want to be your student,” he demanded.

Again, the room fell silent.

“I dunno, Miles,” Eddie started, “you wanna live here, in the middle of nowhere, and hang out with an old man?”

“I can help you. In the garden. And run your errands,” Mihawk countered.

Rayleigh sighed. “Shakky’s gonna throttle me…”

Mikkun pivoted to meet his father. “I’ll ask her myself. Now. I’ll explain it to her.” He turned to Eddie, calm and proper as a businessman: “Do you have a snail?” A quick conversation between mother and son took place in the front yard while Ray hovered in the clover.

Roger caught Eddie mid-drink. “I knew you’d take him. Kid’s amazing. Never seen anything like him. But he’s just a tiny bit stubborn and quiet. Kind of weird.”

The older man laughed easily and mumbled, “All of you kids were fucking weird one way or another. There’s something different about little Mylar. His haki is… well, it’s better to catch them when they’re still young, so they don’t fall in with the wrong crowd—with people like you degenerates!”

Mihawk hung up the snail and came back inside with a determined expression. His fists clenched, he looked up at Eddie. “When can training begin?”

 

Art by tumblr user [oldburgertimer](https://oldburgertimer.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This chapter's tumblr post](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/187103317811/part-2-ch-8)


	9. Bloom

The next time the duo visited Water Seven, Kasumi bought some proper sculpting supplies and stopped by the library, hoping to track down the “S.M.” who’d buried a box of coins in the swamp. She was also keen on seeing what written record of her family might exist, but every title she requested was either lost or on loan; had someone culled them from the racks? 

Whatever the case, it was a disappointment to find the books missing, but getting off the island for the day was always nice, and she was excited to finally have actual sculpting tools. With that thought in mind, she was happy to set out for home.

After a satisfying night’s rest back on Kuraigana, she was eager to put her new tools to use, but a sudden call from the den den mushi downstairs drew her attention. The creature hardly ever rang—calls from family and friends were rare, and Mihawk had a small, government-issued snail to keep in his pocket for official communications—so the parlor snail lived an easy life of eating vegetable peels and bathing in orange sunbeams. When it blared “PURU-PURU-PURU” as loudly as it could, it was as if it were celebrating finally being able to do its job. 

Kasumi heard Mihawk scamper down the hallway to the parlor and answer it right away. From outside the room, she overheard a conversation in which he mumbled replies to a cheerful and beaming voice. He grunted out “Yes,” “No,” “In time,” and “Fine.” The voice, Shakky’s, sang out, “Goodbye, my little tiger! Happy birthday again!” before the snail disconnected.

“Rabbit,” he teased as he placed the snail back on the shelf, “I’m well aware you’re out there eavesdropping.”

Her fingers curled around the doorframe, followed by her voice: “You didn’t say anything about your birthday.”

“You never asked.”

She peeked a foot and a smile into the room. “You should’ve told me. Happy birthday.”

“You,” he frowned, “never informed me of your birthday either. As I recall… you stormed out after I rejected your pancakes… then mysteriously pouted for hours.”

“That was different. I had a good reason,” she said as she slinked mischievously into the room, “Anyway, you’re a Pisces? I’m a Scorpio.”

“Yes… March 9. Seems I’m 24 now...” He scratched at his sideburns. “I didn’t know you believed in horoscopy, Shikkearu. It’s, ah, not a hard science… Yet, I suppose both superstition and science arise from the human desire for explanations… and to ponder the unknown. To tell stories, ah, and tales of romance as well.” 

Delighted, she rolled into his arm and twisted against his torso. “Well, I don’t really believe it, but it’s fun, you know? Happy birthday.”

Her tongue moistened her lips before she presented him with a knee-buckling kiss. _“I hope you get everything you want.”_

His bottom lip grazed against hers several times before he found the words to reply. “Shall it be enjoyable for us both,” he said. His hands worked their way down, grasping at the back of her waist before sliding over the two mounds of muscle tensing to lean into his kiss. “What I desire is before me now.”

A few hours later, Kasumi found herself surveying the pantry for birthday cake ingredients. Why did he have to have his birthday on such short notice?! She scanned over the stock: Canned apples? Ginger? Cinnamon? They were only in Water Seven a few days ago! Why hadn’t he mentioned his birthday then?!

She concocted a basic cake batter, added apples and nuts, and popped it into the oven. Mihawk lumbered half-asleep into the kitchen a while later to find her wearing one of the sundresses she’d had made, standing in front of a busy stove. 

He stifled a yawn and grasped her waist from behind. “This dress,” he purred into her ear as his hand explored under the skirt, “is not seasonally-appropriate.”

“It’s almost summer,” she laughed, “besides—stop it, I’m trying to cook!—I thought it was _situationally_ appropriate. I made you a birthday dinner! And a cake, sort of.”

She uncovered a dish to reveal a flat, dense, brown mystery cake. “It’s not pretty. But it tastes good, I think. You really should add baking powder to your grocery staples. And, you know, warn people when your birthday is coming up.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he mumbled cautiously. “I’ll get a wine to pair with this… all of this.”

As he descended into the cellar, she called after him, “Why don’t you get something that’s 24 years old?”

“Eh, there’s no need to drink something like that tonight. It’s no special occasion.” 

“Do it for me?”

Mihawk sighed and dusted off a bottle of Pinot Noir: _1481 Seahorse Springs Reserve._ It would have to do. He headed up the stone stairs and saw her standing at the sink, wiping out the wine glasses. Her hair tangled atop her head, frizzy from steam and sweat; her delicate sundress hanging over every curve; her ridiculous frog slippers. God, she was sexy. 

The evening dissolved into a night of wine and laughter, and Kasumi awoke late the next morning, refreshed and renewed in her determination to pick up where she’d left off sculpting. 

With proper tools, her project seemed easier, and she realized that she might have more talent at sculpting than she’d assumed. She found the tools made the marks, cuts, and breaks she intended them to, with far fewer surprises, so much so that it was tempting to start over from scratch. Still, there was a sincerity and truth in the foundation she’d laid, and she wanted to see it through—warts and all. 

Her hobby consumed the next several days, aside from the occasional break to relax and catch up on reading. It was during such a break one afternoon, when a huge commotion tore her away from her book; Mihawk had barged in the front door carrying a bed—mattress, frame, bedding and all—overhead, making a terrible racket as he clattered awkwardly down the hallway towards the study.

She leapt from the sofa and eyed him mischievously as he tilted the bed frame in and out of the study doorway in futile attempts to fit it through. 

“So,” she cooed, “doing some rearranging?”

Mihawk grunted, and all at once the bed sprang into the study. “Yes.”

“And you thought you’d take a bed—from the second floor—and then bring it in the front door and put it in the study?”

He nudged it with his knee until it reached his favorite napping spot before answering, “‘Twas more efficient than hauling it down the staircase.”

“Think we need a bed in here, then?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow, “In the study?”

Mihawk snorted. “I enjoy sleeping here during the day. Furthermore, I enjoy sleeping with you next to me. _Further_ more, I enjoy making love in the afternoon. This is a practical matter.”

“You’re putting,” she laughed, “a sex bed, mm-hm-hm, in Hiroshi’s formal study?”

His face darkened as he frowned, “I don’t see why not. It’s my castle. I’ll do as I wish.”

The mood chilled. After all this time, he still thought of this place as _his?_ He was only humoring her as the heir to this island? 

With the first pulse of adrenaline, her pupils widened. 

She snapped her chin up to meet his gaze. Another surge of blood tunneled through her temples. _“Your_ castle?! If I had—”

Her eyes latched onto his; her mind and body slowed. A curious crinkle creased her brow. All at once, she was underwater in a cavern of soupy echoes, palpable with emotion but lacking audible form. 

Mihawk stood with a half-smirk, eager to pop off with another tease to smooth her hackles. His mind suddenly felt slow and viscous—a symptom of his delayed nap, he supposed—but he pressed on. He placed his hand on her forearm and began, “Now, hime-kun--”

Kasumi’s expression strained; a faraway drumbeat sounded in her ears in rhythm with the tremor in her chest. Mihawk was speaking, but the sounds were as meaningless as creek gurgles. Warmth swallowed her in a blanket of haze; the world was easy and safe here. 

Nothing was wrong; nothing could ever _be_ wrong. He hadn’t meant to insult her. Everything was fine! His current emotions drifted through her: playfulness, desire, sleepiness, love. His thoughts were still a mystery to her—as unknowable as the sounds coming from his mouth—yet she perceived his feelings and intentions clearly. 

His gentle chastising trailed off. “Imo?” he asked.

A gradual buzzing grew to a quick crescendo and Kasumi gasped, staring for a moment. “That was intense.” She plopped onto the bed and sat with her elbows on her knees. 

“What was intense? Are you alright?”

She rubbed her palms on her thighs. “I think… I think I was in your subliminal space. I could feel your feelings.” 

Mihawk twisted at his growing mustache and laughed. “Was that it? Feel them then. I have nothing to hide from you.” He pulled her down onto the bed and met his lips to hers. 

She looked back at him in disbelief. “I was in your head.”

He smiled, and a crimson eye met his. Taking her by the shoulders, he informed her, “Your eye. The left one. It’s… injured.”

She jumped up to peer into the great mirror that hung at one end of the room. “Oh,” she laughed, “that’s just a broken blood vessel. It’ll clear up in a day or so. Guess I pushed it too hard.”

Lying on his side, he patted the bed with a patient look and watched with eagerness as the rabbit made her way back to the new napping spot. 

“Do you feel okay? I’ve never done that before,” she said as she positioned herself face-to-face with him on the pillow. 

“The eye?”

Kasumi guffawed. “No, dummy. That happens to everyone. Haven’t you ever broken a blood vessel?”

“How would I know?” he snapped.

“I _mean,_ ” she continued, “I’ve never been in someone’s space like that before. Didn’t you feel anything?”

With a sigh, he ran his thumb and forefinger along a twist of her hair. “I felt a bit lightheaded, then I felt fine. Then I felt concern for my dearest who stood dumbstruck and entirely vulnerable while her eye bloodied itself. Then I heard a terrible racket of buzzing. I’d say, rabbit… you have some work to do before this is a tenable skill.”

_“I’m trying my best, you know.”_

He pecked at her lips and squeezed her against him. “Rabbit, it’s good that your powers are growing. You’re, ah, no longer a seed upon the breeze, but rather a—”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“That I was in your head.”

“Of course not.”

Mihawk inhaled and looked at the princess, fascinated by that half-red eye. Was that what his looked like to others? So strange, so beautiful. Alarmingly red. Enough to terrify anyone with just a glance! 

“Rabbit-dear,” he leaned in to whisper against her lips, “Your skills do not disturb me. I hope you feel the same about mine.”

She nestled against his chest and found her favorite napping position: front-to-front; his bicep wrapped over her shoulder; her arm on his lower back. Of course it never lasted; sooner or later, someone would have to turn or stretch, and the pair would wake up in a different pose, but while it lasted, it was the most sublime feeling of happiness and security she’d ever felt!

\----

Young Mihawk awoke on tails of sunrise, having only truly fallen asleep an hour or two earlier—the prospect of a new chapter about to unfold was too compelling for sleep to come easily. He found himself briefly alone in his new home and set about rummaging around the kitchen for something to eat.

Eddie stumbled into the room wearing a floral housecoat, his hair a messy nest of sparkling gray. 

“Mornin’ Myron.”

Mihawk screwed up his face and muttered his name to correct the old man, but Eddie was already speaking over him.

“Today’s the day, kiddo. We’re gonna get to know each other. Show me what your regular training is like and we’ll go from there.”

Trying not to sound too eager, the boy asked, “Are you going to use the Starbrand?”

“Hin-hin-hin!” Eddie laughed, “Not on the first day!” 

Mihawk frowned. 

“Tell you what, you work hard for me, do as I say, and listen good, well, I’ll let you use the Starbrand now and then.”

The boy straightened his back and assured his new teacher that he’d work as hard as he possibly could. 

Training took place in the side yard of the house, just within sight of the garden— _“Gotta keep an eye out for that sonofabitch badger,”_ Eddie had informed him—and Mihawk started in with a full barrage of attacks. 

He was eager to show off all his strongest skills and fight to his fullest like he did with his father, but instead, Eddie drilled him on beginner’s techniques like lunges and leaps, drawing his blade, and ideal fighting distance. 

“I know these skills already, sensei,” the boy mumbled halfway through the simple routine. 

Eddie smiled, “Sure, sure you know it. Listen, Micco,” he said as he squatted down to meet his pupil, “We start at the basics. Every fucking day. Do it like that the rest of your life. You start thinking you’ve already mastered shit, well then that’s an arrogance your opponent can use against you. Practice it, build on it, improvise on it, but don’t go thinking you’ve mastered it. Just don’t be a prick, eh?”

Mihawk nodded and began again, working through each skill as if it were both the first and last time he’d execute it. A quick break for sandwiches, a brief nap, and an afternoon practice routine set the pace for what would become their usual schedule. At dusk, Eddie nodded and wiped his brow. 

“Gettin’ dark. Help me water the garden and then we’ll clean up and make some supper. You any good around the kitchen?”

“Yes,” the boy answered honestly.

After a dinner of pasta with capers, artichoke, and onions, the older man smiled and ran his fingers through a thicket of gray hair. “Been a long day, kid. I usually hit the bar ‘bout now. You oughta get some rest. There’s a futon in the hall closet you can—”

The boy’s scarlet eyes grew as big as saucers.

Eddie smirked, then sucked in a whistle. “You never spent the night alone, have ya?”

Mihawk shook his head. 

“Ever been to a bar?”

The boy nodded reassuringly as a slight cough sounded from his lips.

Eddie tossed his head back and laughed. “You can try to come with, but just be sure to remember the way home, Martin. Mind your own business and we’ll see if they’ll let you hang around. Otherwise, you’re gonna be here alone ‘til 3 or 4.”

Mihawk was unfazed. “I know how to behave in a bar.”

“Good.”

They emerged from the row of sunflowers and headed down a dirt road toward the lights straining in the distance.

“Place is called The Skylark,” Eddie informed him as the scant lights of town grew stronger. 

“Mm,” the boy acknowledged. “What kind of bar is it? Pirate bar? Tourist bar? Rip-off bar?”

Eddie slapped the boy’s shoulder hard enough to push him off course. “Rip-off bar?! Shit, kid, hin-hin-hin, who the hell would go to a rip-off bar?”

Mihawk nodded sincerely. “Lots of people.”

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” Eddie mumbled, “But this isn’t a rip-off bar. There’s only a few bars in town and this is the best. Just a regular place full of jerks like us. Behave yourself, alright?”

They gradually came upon a modest strip of shops and bars from which the murmurs of conversation and echoes of laughter spilled out into the road. It was obvious Eddie had chosen a quiet place to retire, but the town wasn't entirely dead after sunset; downtown Foxskip was still wide awake as the pair reached their destination.

The Skylark was unknowably dark, yet warm at the same time. An easy anonymity clung to the shadows, but, at the bar, nobody was a stranger.

“Eddie!” hollered the bartender, a tall pine tree of a woman with a cone of hair that nearly reached the ceiling, “Where were you last night?”

“Hin-hin-hin, picked up an apprentice,” he said as he placed his hand atop Mihawk’s head. “Kid’ll stay out of the way, don’t worry.”

“You can’t bring a kid into a bar, Eddie,” said a gruff-looking man sitting at a table in the margin of the shadows. 

The bar’s only other employee piped up, “Sandy and I don’t mind. As long as it’s Eddie. Hell,  _you’d_ probably bring some juvenile delinquent in here and have him pulling cons!” She squatted to meet Mihawk’s gaze. “But Eddie brought a little sweetheart. I can already tell.”

Sandy watched as her wife eyed over the boy. 

“What’s your name, sugar?” 

“Dracule Mihawk.”

“You staying with Eddie? He teaching you swords?”

Mihawk nodded. 

The gruff-looking man scoffed. “Since when is _EDDIE_ a swordsman? He’s just a drunk like the rest of us.”

“You’d be surprised what you could learn if you’d fuckin’ listen once in a while,” Sandy laughed. “Liza, can you set the kid up a table in the back? Get a coloring book or something?”

“I’d prefer a newspaper,” Mihawk informed her. 

Liza smiled, and her laugh shook the rafters. “A newspaper?! Well, aren’t you a little man! Right this way, sir! I’ll get you a newspaper and some juice.”

Eddie settled into the bar in front of Sandy. “Has Sammie been around?” 

Sandy slid him a highball glass full of whisky and ice. “Yeah, lookin’ for you the past two nights. Guess you’ve had your hands full?” she asked, gesturing toward Mihawk’s table. 

“Him? Oh no. Real quiet kid. Easy-goin’. Gonna be a hell of a fighter someday, mark my words.” He leaned forward and added in a whisper, “Little guy was afraid to stay at the house alone. He won’t be any trouble.”

Sandy winked and poured Eddie another glass. “It’s alright. Hell, living with an old codger like you, he’s probably bored out of his mind. What’d you feed him? Capers and anchovies?”

The swordfighter leaned back on his wobbly barstool and chuckled. “Close.”

“He looks like a good kid,” she added. 

Eddie thumbed the hilt of his katana. “I’ve never seen anything like him.” His thoughts drifted to some of his most gifted former students. This boy was different; his technique was damn-near perfect and his haki was almost disturbingly strong. He couldn’t wait to show her to Sam! He snapped out of his daydream at the thought of her.  

“Think she’ll be around tonight?” 

“Who? Sammie?” Sandy asked over her shoulder as she sliced a pile of limes, “She’ll probably stop by.”

Meanwhile, Mihawk relaxed in his dimly-lit corner, feeling perfectly at home at the Skylark. Looking around the place, he could even pick out some customers who reminded him of people he’d known back home. The woman behind the bar was certainly no Shakky, but it was a friendly place and the old man seemed happy here. 

When Sam finally made her entrance around midnight, the bar was at its liveliest, yet Mihawk sat alone at an empty table. He watched as the old man’s face lit up at the sight of a tall middle-aged woman with long, navy hair and a pleasant face. She sat next to Eddie and placed her hand on his back as the two fell into easy conversation Mihawk couldn't quite make out from across the bar.

Eventually, Eddie led her away for a moment to meet his new protege. Mihawk snapped up the newspaper in front of his face, hoping they hadn’t noticed he’d been watching their every move. 

As they neared, he pretended to notice them for the first time and stood from his chair to greet his teacher’s friend. 

“Mickey, this is Sam. Sam, Mickey.” Eddie grinned. 

“Dracule Mihawk,” the boy said as he stuck out his hand. 

“How very nice to meet you!” she smiled, “I’m Sam. Or Sammie. Or Samantha.” With a wink, she added, “I’m sure you’ve figured out that Eddie’s not too good with names.”

“Now, listen, kid,” Eddie jumped in, “you ever need anything while I’m not around, you come here and ask for Sammie, alright?”

Mihawk nodded, but his eyes were fixed on those long, straight navy-blue strands that flowed and curved and very nearly covered up all of the woman’s eyes under a veil of bangs. What fascinating hair! 

With an easy laugh, Sam added, “Yeah, you come let me know when this old man’s not treating you right. I’ll kick his ass!”

The boy offered her a businesslike nod and sat down again to return to his newspaper. The bar was getting noisier now, and reading helped him to ignore the annoyance. They’d die down soon enough, he knew from experience, and then rush the kitchen for food before heading home. That’s how these things worked, after all. 

He was on his fourth attempt to read through the same paragraph when he’d finally had enough. This bar was far too loud. He did the only thing he could think of doing: he went to the kitchen, donned an apron, washed up, and got to work behind the bar. Limes and lemons? Done with a pass of his hand. Ice? Restocked with nary a grunt from his lips. Spills wiped, glasses washed and dried, food served, and tables bussed. In the commotion, no one gave a second thought to a boy with an apron helping around the bar. After the major issues were addressed, he replaced the apron and sat back down with his newspaper while a bemused Eddie looked on.

At the end of the night he found him in the stockroom, curled up on a pallet Liza had made from clean towels and sacks of rice. 

“C’mon, lil’ guy, ain’t nothin’ else happening here tonight.”

Mihawk nodded and then found himself in Sam’s arms, nestled against those enchanting strands. When he awoke on his futon in the morning, it was to the smell of a hot breakfast of sausage, toast, eggs, and coffee. He had begun to think the old man would never feed him anything besides onions and bread!

He rushed to the kitchen and was met by a smiling, sleepy-looking woman at the stove. She had Sam’s body, but something wasn’t quite right; he blinked and cocked his head. 

“Your hair?” he stammered.

The boy’s astonished face nearly caused her to double over with laughter. “Pa-hahaha! Oh, sweetheart, that was a wig! I got all kinds of wigs. They’re really fun, you know?”

He gave her an unsure nod and silently began to set the table. What an interesting woman! 

Eddie soon joined them for breakfast as early morning sunbeams crept along the walls. The trio ate in quiet contentment, inaugurating the first of many breakfasts to come. 

For the next two years, no matter how late Eddie had stayed up the night before, whether or not Sam had spent the night, he’d wake the boy up just after sunrise and begin training him with the same energy and patience he’d called upon for decades. When Sam spent the night, however, breakfast was much more enjoyable. Mihawk liked talking to her and was always a little disappointed when she inevitably excused herself to go about her day.

One day after practice, Eddie caught up with the boy after he ran off to the water pump in the garden.

“Ay, lil’ Myron, what do you,” —he paused and watched while the boy gulped water like a camel— “what do you think your strengths and weaknesses are?”

Mihawk pointed his head under the stream and tossed the water over his neck. “Hm?”

“What are you good at?”

“Swords,” he answered as he stood and smoothed his hair.

“Yeah, sure, of fuckin’ course you are! But what are you good at DOING with swords?”

“Fighting.”

Eddie snorted. The kid was too young to reflect on anything, and a prodigy to boot! Of course he’d never considered his weaknesses, much less the strengths that came so naturally to him!

Mihawk stood before him, chin lowered and crimson eyes peeking upward.

“Well, kid, what kind of things do you think you could improve at?”

“Swords,” the boy nodded.

“Shit, Mihook,” Eddie muttered. With kids like these, the only thing to do was to _expose_ their abilities for what they were; eventually the little sprouts would figure it out for themselves.

The old teacher slapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Awlright, kid, just know that I’m, ah, gonna be hard on you until you can answer that question better. Think about it. Being good at swords just because you’re good at swords don’t mean a fuckin’ thing.”

This was exactly the reason he didn't take kids this young—they never knew how to reflect!

What Eddie didn't realize was Rayleigh wasn't much better in that regard, at least where Mihawk's training was concerned. And in that sense, Eddie was proving a far more effective sensei. Ray wasn't a sadistic trainer, but he often assumed the only path towards growth was to push the boy past the point of frustration and hope it would bring about some watershed moment. For most of his childhood, Mihawk had been improving on talent and determination alone and without any real regard to the philosophy behind the blade.

Eddie, drawing on decades of teaching, was giving the boy both the breathing room and encouragement to think about the mechanics of what had always been instinctual. Mihawk was, for the first time, able to build a deliberate foundation from which to draw better instincts; he was rewriting the rote.

“Think about what you’re doing,” Eddie would say, “Don’t just react.”

In an attempt to get the boy to stop relying on his incredible eyesight, Eddie often had him wear a blindfold while he trained. Mihawk’s observation haki grew stronger than ever, and what had seemed like a laughable idea at first soon became part of his regular practice. 

Eddie couldn’t help but smile sometimes at the sight of a young, blindfolded swordfighter swinging his blade with enough determination to dismember a dozen hellhounds, his tiny hands wielding his weapon with the confidence and strength of a man three or four times his age! Damn, how the kid loved to fight!

He’d backed his student to the edge of the garden; even with the blindfold, Mihawk neatly parried every strike and came at his teacher with equal force, but there was no more room for retreat. Eddie sighed and took a step back. 

“Mack, you need to resist the temptation to plant that back foot when you’re defending. You gotta come at them when they least expect it. Channel that block into an attack. And quit fuckin’ backin’ up if you don’t have a plan.”

“I will do it,” Mihawk said before muttering something too low to be heard. 

“What’s that?” the old man asked as he struck lazily. 

Instead of defending, Mihawk lunged forward three times, slashing at Eddie’s side as he flitted out of reach. **“My name is MIHAWK. DRACULE MIHAWK!”**

“Awlright! Nice job, Mihawk!”

The boy peeked out from under the blindfold and panted, “So you do know my name?”

Eddie shrugged. “Fuck, kid, it’s hard enough to remember names nowadays. Kids named all kinds of shit... I been calling you Hawk-Eye in my mind. You like that? How about if I call you Hawk-Eye?”

Mihawk readily agreed, seeing as how “Hawk-Eye” was, by far, the best of all the pseudonyms the old man had thought up. By the time he was 24 years old, more people would know him by his epithet than by the name Shakky had so carefully chosen.

\----

Dracule “Taka no Me” Mihawk lunged forward twice to meet his opponent’s blade in an overhead strike, which was caught by Fuchi just shy of Kasumi’s head. She strained to hold her broadsword horizontally above her, a shameful position to be in against a stronger fighter. The stalemate was obvious, and Mihawk ended the bout as he usually did, with a smirking wink and a playful push from Yoru. 

“Imo,” he said as he wiped his brow with his bare arm, “you, ah, need to formulate… a better strategy for that situation.” He tossed her a towel and took a long swig from his canteen. “You won’t overpower me.”

She took the canteen from his outstretched hand and swallowed a few careful sips. 

“Possess my mind or something,” he suggested, “Let’s make this interesting. Trying to defeat me with brute force, eh… is not a viable approach.”

“Well, controlling your mind’s not really a viable approach, either, you know.”

He grunted and tugged at the towel around her neck. “Seems you have some work to do then, rabbit. What luck that you should do it with me.”

His eye caught the sword mounted in the center of the longest wall, the first sword he’d mounted in this room, without which all the others were meaningless: the Starbrand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come visit me on Tumblr!](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/)


End file.
